The 100th Games
by A Pen and a Piece of Mind
Summary: AU: The tour was successful and now Katniss and Peeta must see their children through the 100th Games, a fourth Quarter Quell where victor's children are pitted against each other.
1. Announcement - Katniss

The Quarter Quell: Announcement – Katniss

I crouch behind a fallen tree and watch as a deer walks through the snow. It's small, too small to feed a decent amount of people, but I'll still bring it to the Hob. They need it more than I do and anything will help. Especially during the winter. The deer nibbles on a bush as I ready an arrow, hesitating to pull back the string.

Twenty five years and I still can't kill something as easily as I used to. It isn't just my Games, my memories of the arena; it's all the tributes I've lost since then. Seeing them die, being unable to save them or even to help after they were reaped.

I understand Haymitch a lot more than I used to. Why he drinks, why he doesn't bother to get to know them and I would have given up long ago too if it weren't for Peeta. Every year he tries. Every year he coaches them as best as he can. He shows them how to camouflage, how to win the crowd, but they never make it out.

I give them survival tips and sometimes it's useful, sometimes I think they might win. But I haven't seen it happen yet. These kids grow up around me. I watch them get older every day, take tesserae, put their names in more times. And then I hear them called and I lead them to their deaths.

I can't beat the Capitol and I can't change the Games. I can't help them when they go to the arena. Even as Peeta and I try to get them sponsors, nothing works. Nothing changes.

Our victory tour saw to that. And a year later, amongst the 75th games and the third Quarter Quell so did our marriage. We had to mentor adults our first year. I remember the announcement clearly.

"For this, our third Quarter Quell, to remind any remaining rebels that everyone suffers during war, this year's tributes will be reaped from the adult citizens of Panem."

I didn't really know either one personally. Gale did. The male tribute, Sodor, worked in the mines with him. I see Sodor's son around the Hob some days, but I can't look him in the eyes. Just like I can't look at any of the other families I've failed because I couldn't save their children. Peeta talks to them, sends them food and I leave them rabbits or squirrels I catch, but it doesn't make up for their losses. Nothing will ever fix it.

Rumors of rebellion died with the birth of our daughter and Snow stopped watching us when our son came along. I had never wanted children, not in this world, not when I saw them die all the time. Not when I knew they would be taken from me for the Games. But after about six years of marriage, the Capitol began to question it. Other districts questioned the lie again, started fighting back once more in the name of the Mockingjay. And a fresh white rose addressed to me with congratulations told me more than any threatening words would.

Peeta and I healed each other after our Games. Both plagued with nightmares, both stuck under the Capitol's rule. While I wanted to forget, to move on, to pretend when I had to, he was honest, sincere, forcing himself to relive it so he could change things when the time came. He kept me whole when Snow threatened our family, even more so when my nightmares could no longer be contained.

The marriage may have started out as a lie, but my love for him is not. He understands a part of me that only people who have been in the arena can. But it goes deeper than that. He knows what to say when the nightmares come, the right food to bring me, all the secrets and fears that I don't want to share with others or can't. He knows me better than anyone else.

So when the letter came. When our future was written for us, he knew what to say, how to lie to the Capitol.

"We can pretend we can't have them. That there's something wrong with me," he said, his hand gripping mine, the other holding the letter.

I was the one who decided it was better to let it happen. Maybe some small part of me wanted them. Maybe I knew there was no fighting Snow. He wouldn't buy it and our families would be at risk. I'm not really sure if it was an act of giving up or bravery to go through with it. There are days where I question if it was both or neither. But I do not question how much Peeta loves them. Maybe even more than me.

I fear for them every day, but the worst day is always the reaping. Waiting to hear their names, waiting to know if I will have to make sure they survive the arena. And that fear forced me to make sure they knew how to hunt, how to find water, and the right plants to eat or heal. Even if I am sure they will never starve, I can't guarantee that they will not go into the arena. And that fear has lessened as they have aged, but it will not truly go away until they are both out of that bowl of names.

I know I will protect them with my last breath. I don't know how much of me loves them. I don't really think I know how to love them when I never wanted them. But I try. I make sure they never go hungry, that they are strong enough for this world. Peeta does the rest. He teaches them how to be kind, how to face the cameras, and the entirety of Panem, who knew their names before they did.

I tried to teach Basil to hunt. But after years of him stomping through the woods, grumbling and huffing about not wanting to kill anything or even see it, I let him stay home. He's fourteen now. He likes to paint with Peeta or run around with other children in town. We let him, because it's normal, because he should be allowed to have a childhood. They both should. Ivy is another story however.

She wants to be around me, to learn what I have to teach her and she soaks it all up, understanding it easily. It didn't take her long to learn how to shoot a bow and she's quiet, resourceful.

"Just like you," Peeta said once when I told him about our first walk in the woods. There's a feeling I get when I think about those words. About our features mixed on her. My dark hair. His blue eyes. Its warmth and a sinking feeling. Pride and guilt.

I've passed on the legacy of those berries and the girl on fire, but she never talks about it. Or about the questions she gets every year when the cameras arrive and the Capitol wants a glimpse of her. They always make comparisons to me, even worse now that she's seventeen. They constantly wonder if they should expect her to volunteer for the arena or wear one of Cinna's dresses. He's always sent some, but she refuses them. I don't blame her. I never ask her about all of it. I should ask, but I doubt she'd tell me anyway. We're similar in our stubbornness and our inability to talk about how or what we feel.

Bas doesn't get the same amount of attention. He has my grey eyes. Peeta's golden hair which he cuts short to avoid the curls, but the Capitol doesn't react to him like they react to Ivy. Maybe because she's the first. Maybe because his attitude is too close to mine. Ivy can play it off. She has a way about her that echoes Peeta in interviews, but Bas gives short one word responses with nothing more. They don't seem to enjoy making comparisons to myself or Peeta with him.

The deer I've been watching, readying to kill, continues eating, unaware of the threat from three feet away. I take a breath, aim and pull back the bowstring. It's down with an arrow through the eye before I can even think to take the shot.

Ivy steps into my line of sight from another tree. She throws the bow over her shoulder before tying her tangled hair up in a knot. She avoids wearing it in a braid and has ever since she was old enough to do her hair herself. It's only once a year that she wears it that way. And only because Effie insists. Prim is always the one to do it for her. She refuses to braid it herself or allow me to do it.

She looks to my hiding place as I step out from cover.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" I ask, not because I really care that she isn't there, I always thought it was useless. I'm curious as to how she got all the way out here, in an area that I don't normally go, without anyone else noticing.

"Early day. Quarter Quell announcement and all," She shrugs and I remember why I went further than usual. The 100th Games. The next announcement. How many more tributes will I lose this year? What other atrocities will I have to try to guide them through? I didn't want to think about it and I didn't want anyone to find me while I avoided it.

"How did you find me out here?" I look around but see no sign that I left. No trail she could have followed.

"Tracked you."

"That's impossible. Even with the snow, I was very careful."

"You broke some branches about a mile back." She smirks. She is a much better tracker than I could ever be. It would scare me if it wasn't so useful when we are looking for game.

Gale used to hunt with us and taught her a few things a while back. Before the shaft he was working in collapsed, burying him and a group of five beneath coal and rubble. I miss him. I see him in the faces of his brothers, who now work in the mines themselves. I see Rory more since he and Prim have been married for five years. They are expecting their first child in a few months and I see how happy they are during this time. I wonder if I ever looked happy during my pregnancy. I can't imagine that I did. Prim, however, seems to think so.

"Let's get this to the Hob before the announcement," I tell her with a sigh. She nods before she pulls the arrow from the deer. I make sure to add, "Good shot," which makes her smile. I've learned to spot the difference between the fake smile she puts on for the cameras and the genuine one usually reserved for Peeta, myself, or Bas. Prim will get them sometimes and so will my mother, but Ivy is very guarded. She's only herself out here with me in our woods, where we are safe and the Capitol cannot watch us.

We are silent until we reach the fence and she asks, "What do you think it'll be?"

I shrug, "Nothing good."

"Do you think things could change?" She asks quietly. I have to take a second to realize what she's truly asking and how to answer.

"I think it would mean a lot of death and destruction." I remember a time when Snow came to visit me. When he threatened me and told me about war. I don't want a war. I want it even less than I did that first time it was a possibility. I don't want to see my children faced with it.

"But if it meant the Games could end, would you still try?"

"Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know. It's almost my last year. But Bas'll still be in the bowl for four more. And I mean it's not like I don't know the kids who get reaped. I just, I don't want to see it anymore." She shrugs and there's a waver when she says anymore like there's something else she doesn't want to see. Like she isn't sure what she's trying to say.

I know what it is. My nightmares. My screams when I wake in the middle of the night. There are times when I relive Rue's death, the time I shot Marvel, but there are worse ones, ones that haven't even happened. Times I've seen her die in the arena. Bas die in the arena. And I wake shaking with a need to find them, make sure they are real and safe.

Bas, like Peeta, comforts me without words. A hug and he's back to sleep, letting me watch over him. Ivy is different. She's frightened of this version of me. The damaged victor. She should be.

On the nights when this happens, she's usually left her room; the one across from Peeta's and mine. When I find her, she's sitting outside on the steps, unable to sleep because of my screaming, and shaking worse than I am.

I am afraid to hold her in these times. Afraid that she will recoil and that fear will shatter whatever small relationship I have with her. I can't love her, but I will not let her believe that she is unloved. Peeta is the one who has to coax her back in the house, who brings her to her room and gets her to sleep. He is a better father than I am a mother. They need him more than they need me. I have taught them how to stay alive and Peeta has made sure they are loved. That's all we can do.

"I don't want to see it either. But there's nothing we can do."

She looks at me with an anger I have never seen. There's a spark in her eyes that's been gone from my own for years now. The very fire that I've tried to put out has been reborn in my daughter. I try to think when I missed the moment that it started. Or maybe it's always been there and I couldn't see it. Embers waiting to ignite when given the chance.

"You can. You did. And you can do it again," She speaks with pride and I'm taken aback by it. There's nothing about me she should be proud of. I have killed people. I have been responsible for letting children die. I have let the Capitol control me. I'm ready to tell her the same thing I've always said, the same words I've been repeating to Panem for years. How the Capitol and President Snow are good for Panem, how I was so in love with her father that it wasn't defiance. It was just the actions of two star crossed lovers who couldn't live without each other. Nothing more.

Then, she whispers, "You're the Mockingjay," and I forget the script that I've been following for twenty five years.

"Where did you hear that?" I look around, afraid of being overheard even though no one is near the fence and we are miles from town.

"No one ever really says it, not loud enough to hear anyway. But I've seen it. In dad's paintings. When we take the train to the Capitol, sometimes, it's in the other districts, and it's new. It's never gone away. You could change things. Even now." Her eyes are wide with hope and I feel the weight of Snow's gaze all the way from the Capitol. I know it's impossible out here, but I feel it. I fear it.

"We are done talking about this. Don't ever say that word again." I pick up the deer and head through the fence, too afraid to look back and see the light in her eyes die from my cold words. There is no revolution. There is no Mockingjay. There is no hope. It all goes on and on. The Games. The victors. The Capitol ruling over the twelve districts. There is only making it through the year alive. She needs to live with that, like I do. Like we all do.

We sell the deer. Ivy is silent for the walk home. Only the sound of her boots through the slush remind me she's there.

When we get home to our house in the Victor's Village, Peeta has dinner ready and Haymitch is waiting, drink in hand, readying for the announcement. His mind is still as sharp as ever when he's sober, but his body has gotten slower after years of drinking. Bas returns home from The Seam covered in dirt and coal dust. I make him get himself cleaned up before we all sit down to eat.

"How was hunting?" Peeta asks, glancing from me to Ivy. His blonde hair has streaks of grey in it now and the same lines surround his eyes as they do mine. When he laughs he looks the same as he did when he was sixteen, but as the games get closer, we both show our age and the weathered lines brought on by twenty four years of dead tributes.

"I shot a deer," Ivy says as she bites into a piece of bread. Peeta looks at me for confirmation and I nod. He ruffles Ivy's hair, impressed, and she brushes him away.

"I would have loved to see the look on your face when the kid brought it down." Haymitch smiles as he swallows some of his stew.

It's times like these that I can forget about the world I live in. That I can pretend that my family is safe, and that there are no Games. Sometimes I wonder if that world could exist, but then I remember that it can't. Not without a cost and a war that I am unwilling to be a leader or a symbol for.

Bas looks at me, "I drew this today." He hands me a folded piece of paper and I open it. It's a charcoal drawing of Prim and Rory and I smile. "Dad says he's going to put it on a cake for their anniversary. Or when the baby is born, whichever is first, we can't remember."

"The baby, I think. That's very good, I'm sure they'll love it. Can I keep this?"

He nods, but before I can fold it back up, Peeta stands, gravely serious and I understand without him saying.

It's time for the announcement.

We wait as the Panem anthem plays, its symbol bright against the triumphant horns. Peeta and I stand beside each other, unable to sit due to our anxiety. Haymitch is already halfway through his flask and lounging on a chair. Ivy and Bas sit on our couch, silent and waiting, like all of us, for what horrors this year's games will bring.

The 100th Games. It'll be bigger than all the others. I can feel it.

President Snow is wheeled out by his granddaughter, in her thirties now and just as cold as him. He manages to stand, shaky, but making a point to show his strength. Even as he approaches ninety two, his health has never been a public concern. I'm sure the Capitol has some medicine keeping it that way, but I hope one day it's no longer useful. Although I'm not sure how much relief I would have when another President would just take his place.

Snow is handed a yellow envelope marked 100. And he speaks about the previous Quell and the Games with a smile. I recall the memories of my tributes dying as Capitol citizens cheer at the appropriate times. I remember Sodor's face as he was drowned. The girl last year, Briony, only thirteen, who was killed during the bloodbath. On and on the memories continue until Peeta grabs my hand and silences them. I do my best to focus on the floor until Snow reaches the point in his speech that we've been waiting for.

"This year we honor our fourth Quarter Quell." He opens the envelope and my heart begins to pound. He reads the card to himself before looking into the camera with a satisfied smile. And I realize it then, what that smile means. What Ivy's words mean. She's not the only one who whispers about the Mockingjay. Who have hope as to what it could mean. Even as I try to forget and make others do the same. Snow never did. Nor has he forgiven. He's merely been very patient.

And this is his moment of revenge.

"On the one-hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them can't always protect those they love from their past actions, this year's male and female tributes will be reaped from the children of previous victors."

The citizens of the Capitol begin cheering wildly in a roar that echoes through the walls of the house. I can barely hear them over the sound of the blood pumping in my ears. I feel like a weight is crashing down on me, a weight that I've been waiting for but forgot was there.

I stare, stunned, at the dark screen as I hear footsteps leave the room in a rush. A door slams and I hear a rage filled scream from up above me as something comes crashing to the floor.

I can feel an anger I've pushed down rising. A fire burning in my stomach, reaching my heart where my fear has encased it in ice, melting it and burning away any last remnant of complacency I had forced myself into. I want him to pay. I will make him pay.

Peeta grabs my arm, pulling me back into the room, the reality of everything around me and my anger recedes. Replaced with despair, and a heartbreak that I can't fully comprehend. I turn around and face Ivy, sitting stunned on the couch, staring at the floor, putting it all together.

I reach out for her, my hands shaking, but she stands too quickly for me to reach her. She's upstairs and in her room before I drop my arm and turn to Peeta.

"This can't be happening," He says, voice fragile, about to fall to pieces.

Haymitch stands, dropping his flask in the process, "But it is happening. And denying it isn't gonna help them now."

"Haymitch, what do we do?" Peeta asks, as I try to think if there's anyway, by some unimaginable miracle, Haymitch could have fathered some kid somewhere, but I know he didn't. And I know what I have to do come reaping day.

"Make sure they survive."

"Both of them can't win, how do we—"

"We do what we're supposed to do. We mentor them and make sure they live the longest," Something in Haymitch's words eases Peeta's tension but is lost on me. Haymitch hands me a bottle and I don't care enough to question him further. I feel like I should be in mourning, but I know I've been expecting something like this for so long that I can't feel anything. How do I mentor them? How do see them through the arena when I haven't managed to do it a single time before?

I take a drink. I can't think about the announcement right now, the Games or what's going to happen come reaping day. I can't think about the fact that both of my children are going into the arena. And if I'm lucky one of them will come out.

"_There are thieves, who rob us blind,  
and kings, who kill us fine,  
but steady, the rights and the wrongs  
invade us, as innocent song.  
I'm not ready, I'm not ready  
For the weight of us, for the weight of us, for the weight of all of us_."

– The Weight of Us by Sanders Bohlke


	2. Plans - Ivy

The Quarter Quell: Plans – Ivy

I storm into my room. Pacing, desperately trying to wake myself up from whatever nightmare I'm in. It can't be happening. Why is it happening?

I slide against the door and sit on the ground trying to breathe. It feels like my lungs are collapsing under a siege of water and I can't force any oxygen in. I'm drowning. I'm dying.

No. Not yet. Not until the arena.

The arena.

A chill falls over me as I think about the one thing that's been my greatest fear. My father's paintings of it. My mother's screaming through the night. It's the only constant throughout my seventeen years of life. Every year watching new tributes go through it, knowing full well what the winner comes out with. It's not riches, it's not victory. Its memories of bloodshed and violence you can't escape. It's damage, not glory. And being forever stuck underneath the Capitol's watchful gaze and obsession.

Maybe I've always been heading to this moment. An arena waiting for me. A family legacy I can't escape.

But I don't want to escape it. I never have. Even with the Capitol dragging my brother and me out every year for interviews. My father has tried and failed to keep the attention away from us, away from me, but the Capitol doesn't care about the star crossed lovers from Twelve as much as they care about the children of those tributes. And it's clear now with the Quell announcement how much they value those children's lives.

I am angry now. Angrier than I have ever been. They want to invade our lives, know all the details, claim to love us, and then they cheer when our lives are threatened. When they know only one of us is going to live through it. And they celebrate it without mercy. Like it's some kind of honor. But I know there is no honor in this. Not in victory. Not in death. And still they cheer.

My breath evens out the more I think about it. The drowning feeling stops and I want to burn the Capitol to the ground. I want to, but I can't. I am trapped in this Hell. Even the whispers of hope, of a time before I was born, when revolution was a possibility, won't save me now. I may be the daughter of the Mockingjay, but the Mockingjay was caged and the fire inside her died.

And she took the people of Panem with her.

No. She didn't do it. The Capitol did it. Snow did it. Snow destroyed her.

I've seen highlights from my parents' Games. I've seen the spark and the fire in her. Not just in the footage of her time in the arena. From her early interviews, her reaping, the moment she volunteered for my Aunt Prim, and the moment when she was willing to sacrifice it all to prevent herself from killing my father. The moment she defied the Capitol.

But it isn't just in all of this, images of the past, that I see it. I've seen it when we are out in the woods. Like the further we get away from everything, the more she is allowed to live again. It's the times in the woods that I feel like she can breathe and that she truly loves me. But it's gone when we cross the fence.

Any defiance she had has been replaced by a scared woman willing to obey rather than fight, all to prevent war. To prevent death. Our deaths. But it's coming anyway. So what was the point?

My father still paints her as she once was, as she should be. Her dress on fire. The little girl, Rue, who died in the arena. The one she doesn't talk about. The one she buried. I've heard the story from my father, who she told long ago, back when the memories were fresh and the world was rallied behind her. I don't know how she didn't see it, how she didn't want it as badly as they did. To be free.

Maybe it's all a lie. Maybe there is no freedom. Maybe I should just accept my fate.

Not just my fate. My brother's too. And that is something I can't allow to happen.

I can't ask my mother about the Mockingjay. I can't ask why she didn't fight. Or why she was so afraid of it. I can't free her from her cage. I can't change the Quarter Quell announcement. Or fight the Capitol.

I can save my brother. That I can do. And I will.

I don't understand why I'm not scared. There's a confidence that I have about saving Bas, like it's not even a possibility that I will fail. And then I realize why.

I've been preparing for the Games my entire life. The trips in the woods. Hunting with my mother. Interviews with the Capitol. I know how to handle everything they will throw at me. I've spent my life with mentors. And I'm not just another tribute going into the arena. I'm a career.

Bas is not. And my parents will not choose between us, even though they should focus on him. So I have to decide for them. And I know who to share this decision with.

But I can't do that now. Not with the announcement so fresh and the reaping a few weeks away. I will have to plan what to say as I so often do. But this isn't like speaking to Caesar Flickerman and the Captiol audience. This is family or as good as. And the planning is only to soften the blow of announcing that I have no intention of making it out of this arena alive. But I will ensure that my parents do not lose both of their children. I have to.

I hear someone walk down the hall, but I know they will not knock on my door. Everyone in this house needs time away to cope with the announcement. And falling onto each other and crying isn't going to do anyone any favors. Or so I think.

That is until I actually hear someone crying. It's faint and muffled, like they are trying to hide it, but so full of grief that it is impossible to do so.

I'm quiet as I open the door and I can hear the sobs easier now. They originate across from me, from the closed door of my parents' room. And that's when I recognize who it is. My mother. But it's not just her. Every now and then there's another faint sniffle, of someone doing their very best to hold it together while the other lets out their grief. I get closer to the door and listen between the broken sobs as they speak.

"I did everything he asked. I stopped the rebellion. I had them because he told us to," my mother breaks, and I look at the floor. This news doesn't come as surprising to me. She's always kept us at a distance and it's something I've long suspected. But it still stings to know that I wasn't born out of love, but out of survival, and a need to stifle rebellion. It doesn't stop me from continuing to listen.

"Maybe that's why he wanted us to," my father says bitterly. And the sobs stop. I can feel the same anger within me rising in my mother. And with it a hope follows. Like I'm witnessing a resurrection of someone long dead.

"He couldn't have known we would have both."

"But we did. And two is a bonus."

"They are not a bonus," she whispers it so suddenly, so viciously, that I feel guilty for wondering if she loves me. But it's always a back and forth and I know as quickly as that guilt comes, I will go back to wondering and feel justified in it.

"They are for him."

"We can't talk about this. He'll…"

"What? Throw them in the arena?" I can hear my father's smirk from here. And the thought of the arena seems to pull her back together.

"Peeta, how are we going to save them?"

There is silence after the question and I know there is no answer he or my mother could come up with that would seem good enough. Even if there was, I don't want to hear it.

I return to my room, falling onto my bed without changing. I just want to shut it all out for a few hours. Be no one as I close my eyes. Reborn when they open. Ready to fight. Ready to save my brother.

There may be a ticking clock on my life, but until it finishes counting down, I've still got time. Time to plan, time to mourn, and time to enjoy breathing, for however long that is.

The next day I have school, but I see even less reason to be there now than I ever did before. So I stop going. I don't think either of my parents or anyone at school has a problem with it. And if they do, they don't say anything. Not when they know that in a few weeks I'm going into the arena.

Bas still goes through the motions. I think he likes pretending and everyone in my family lets him. There's no talk about the Games yet, no discussion of the Quell announcement. And I know there won't be. Not for another week or two, when my father tries to bring up strategies or things we should be thinking about. My mother will stay silent. As will I. As will Bas. We won't talk about it until we are on the train. Until we have to and there's no escaping it.

With Bas at school, my mother out hunting, and my father at the bakery, I am left to my own devices. Normally I would want to go with my mother, but today, I feel like being alone. I won't have this time to myself much longer. So I'm learning to value it.

I walk around Twelve for a bit, through the Seam, the Hob. I don't really have a set destination. Soon it will be time to head back to the Victor's Village where I will see Haymitch and tell him which of the Mellark children he has to save.

I am still trying to prepare what I will say as I wander and only pay half attention to where I walk. But then I begin to feel eyes on me and force myself to look around.

Everyone I pass, they all look at me, their faces a mixture of sympathy and mourning. I can't help but imagine this as my funeral. And when they pull my body out of the arena, when it's brought back to Twelve to be buried, this is how they will look at my family.

I nod to them because I know, just as they know, that I'm not coming home once I leave. They don't want me in the arena any more than I want to be there, but this is the way of the world, and until it changes I have to keep my head up. I have to be confident, even when I feel like I'm about to break. Make the other tributes see me as the threat. Put all eyes on me and keep them away from Bas. It's only a matter of surviving long enough for him to win. And I will.

I am still trying to figure out what to say to Haymitch. He probably already knows. He's always had things figured out before everyone else. And he seems to be the only one who has never questioned whether my mother loves my father. Or me and my brother. I have never asked him why. And some days I think I will, but then I think I don't really want the answer.

I get tired of the looks and head back earlier than intended.

I pass the bakery on my way but don't stop inside. I'm not fond of my grandmother and my father rarely makes me see her, but I do usually like to say hello to my father and get a cookie when he can spare one. But it's after the announcement and everything is different.

I can't do things as I once did. I can't be little Ivy, the girl who used to sneak sweets and who would run around in the woods until the sun set. I have to be Ivy Mellark, tribute from Twelve, a calculating career. And I'm afraid that if I stop, if I try to pretend like my brother, it will only hurt that much worse when my name is called. It will only remind my parents that I'm going to die. I can't hide it in my eyes. They have always been able to read me better than anyone and they will know. They will see that I have a plan and they will ask me about it. And I will not lie. But they are not ready for the truth yet, so I can't stop. I can't pretend.

I enter the Victor's Village feeling the weight on my back. The weight of keeping my brother alive. The weight of killing others. The weight of changing myself for it all to work. They are all self-inflicted. Things that I have to carry, that I am making myself carry. Only one is heavier than the rest.

I walk into Haymitch's house as I've done before in the past. Albeit, it was with one of my parents and I'm fairly certain they had me wait by the door, but still, times have changed and I need to do things now that I haven't done before.

He's sitting in an overstuffed chair, feet up, drink in hand as per usual. I don't see the same glassy expression that normally accompanies his day of drinking. When he speaks, he's clear, lucid, and I realize what's in his glass is nothing more than water.

He indicates a chair across from him. I take a seat. It's clear he's been expecting me.

"Are you coming to ask me if I have some bastard running around somewhere?" Haymitch quips but I shake my head. He continues, "I take it you've been thinking about what to do with your brother."

"He needs to be the one you focus on. He needs to stay alive," I'm surprisingly steady. Haymitch smiles.

"I was really hoping you weren't gonna say that. Why can't you just be selfish and ask me to save you? No, you gotta be like her. Big damn hero."

"I'm not trying to be a hero. I just don't want him to die."

Haymith claps his hands together, "There it is again. You know you keep up all these similarity things and the Capitol's gonna eat it up."

Then I look at him and I'm cold, "Good."

He seems to have thought of something I haven't yet come to the conclusion of. His next question is calculating, and I'm not entirely sure of his meaning.

"You looking to make a statement?"

"If it keeps them away from Bas, yes."

"I'm not talking about Bas, I'm talking about you. What do you want them to see?"

I shrug. I'm not entirely sure what I want. I don't want them to look at me like I'm scared. Like I can't win. I want them to see me like my mother before. Like the girl on fire. I want all of them to see it. And I want them to be afraid of me. I feel the anger again. Anger at the Capitol, at President Snow. I want to remind them what they tried to kill. I want my mother to see it, to become what she should have always been. The Mockingjay. I want her to believe, to hope, again. And I want these Games to change things.

I know I shouldn't be thinking about sending a message. About restarting the very rebellion my parents stopped. I should be thinking about saving Bas. About the weeks to come. The Games. My arena. My grave waiting for me.

I finally answer my voice strong, angry, "A threat."

He laughs as he dumps the water. Pours some alcohol in the glass and tips it to me. He swallows it all down with one gulp and pours some more.

"Your parents aren't gonna let me choose between you two. Your mother will shoot me, and your father? Well, he'll just talk me to death. Or maybe punch me. Hard to tell with him sometimes. Maybe you should break the news to them." Haymitch smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes and I'm reminded more than I should be of my limited time.

"They won't understand."

"You'd be surprised what they would understand."

"In any case, its best they don't know until it's too late."

"And when they find out?"

"I'll be happy I'm in the arena."

He fights laughter and swallows another glass before pouring more, "What's your strategy?"

"I'll figure it out when I'm in there. I can handle it."

"You might think you're prepared and maybe you are, but let me tell you, you aren't the only one whose been raised by a victor. And One, Two and Four are careers raised by careers."

I swallow. I've been too caught up in my plans, forgetting the very words that brought me and others like me here. I may be a career, I may have been raised by victors and mentors, but so has everyone else. And some might be more like Bas, who can't kill or won't, but others, the ones I had failed to consider, they will. And they will enjoy it just a bit too much. They will see this as a way to make their parents proud, a way to continue a family tradition. And they will work even harder to win for themselves than all the rest.

Haymitch smirks, "You didn't think about them. Huh?"

My resolve tightens, I can't give up, I just have to prepare for them, "Save Bas. Focus on getting him sponsors and anything he needs in the arena. And I'll take care of as many tributes as I can."

I stand, ready to leave, when Haymitch speaks again, "And what do I tell them when they ask why I'm not helping you?"

"You tell them this is my choice," I start, hesitating on my last thought, finding the right way to say it. A way to make him fully realize what else needs to happen, the idea he's given me, "And that they shouldn't have forgotten the effect they can have."

I'm out the door before he responds. I want to hurry home, hide away in my room once again but I'm greeted by my brother's face as I leave. He seems just as annoyed to see me as I do to see him.

"What are you doing here?" I ask and he shrugs.

"Same thing as you apparently."

I grab his arm, he might be stronger than me but I can still drag him around with ease. Sometimes I think he lets me, but then I remember that I punched him in the face once when we were kids and that he's still afraid of me.

"You are not going to sacrifice yourself for me," I grumble as we walk out the Victor's Village. We can't have this conversation in front of our parents and I can't risk that my mother has returned early. So we head back towards town.

"And neither are you," he argues. I let go of him. Frustrated.

"This isn't about me."

He continues, "I don't need you to protect me. I'm not a weak little kid."

"I know that. It's just…you have to be the one who comes home, Bas."

"And what about you? You want to die?" There's a sharp anger in his question that accompanies a clenched fist and I'm stunned. These past two days have brought out something in him that makes him volatile and emotional. Just as they have made me cold and calculating. We are operating under new circumstances and it is bringing out the unexpected in us.

I hesitate and consider crafting a lie to convince him to let me go through with my plan. I decide to be honest. He can't stop me anyway, "No. But they need you more than me."

He laughs, "They need their kids not to die."

"Well we can't change that."

He shrugs, "But we can prove a point."

I stare at him. Has he come to the same conclusion as me? That we have a chance to do something important. And I smile my first real smile since the announcement.

"What did you have in mind?" I ask my voice bright, full of possibility.

"What did you?" He returns with just as much enthusiasm.

"Make them remember us."

He nods and then grabs my arm. I look around as he leads me towards the Seam. The houses here are smaller and the people much thinner than myself or Bas. But still, they don't look at us with any jealousy. Why would they? They don't want to be in the arena.

"Do you blame her?" I ask. Quietly, sullen, like I regret saying it the second it came into my head. It's true. If she hadn't given up. If she hadn't let them get to her. Maybe we wouldn't be here now facing death and all its agents intending to put us in the ground.

I don't know what the Capitol is truly capable of. I only know my limited time in its spotlight and that it will do anything to keep the Districts in line. I just don't know all the lengths they will go to. But it doesn't stop me from wanting a different world. Haymitch has given me something invaluable. I can see a way out for everyone and everything, or at least, I want to see it.

Bas looks at me, and I can hear the gears turning.

"She let them kill her," he says as if realizing it, "but I think she was trying to save everyone and did what she thought was best. And that meant sacrificing herself."

I forgot how perceptive Bas can be. More than myself. I face the world for what it is, and see it just the same. When someone gives me a reason I can see what it could be. And I see people in the same light. Except my mother. I can't face her when at her worst. I'm too afraid to see how broken she is.

Bas understands people a lot more than I do. He hides from what he doesn't like and refuses to accept it for what it is. He will see people as they are but will see why, and he sees what they could be and should be.

It's like he's been given a sense into people's minds that he knows exactly where they stand. If he trusts someone, they are worthy of it. And he knows how to deal with all of the people he encounters within a minute of meeting them.

When it comes to our mother he has never questioned her love for us, even when I've asked him about it. And while I hide from the damage, he seeks it, and knows just how to fix it.

Bas stops in front of a row of shacks. There's a wall behind them poorly built, covered in dust, separating the road from the homes. And on the wall, red and bright, fresh and new, is the painting of the Mockingjay symbol.

I look at Bas who beams at the artwork. I don't need to ask, I know this was him. I feel a sense of pride looking at it. Like a piece of me has been resurrected with this act. The piece I lost in the announcement. When I look at it, I understand the power of this symbol. And I add a new plan to my growing list.

My mother is very protective. That is one thing I will never deny about her, and given that it's her first instinct I am sure this announcement has put it on overload. Especially given the fact she can't protect us both. And it's those instincts I'm counting on to show the world what they saw during her Games.

It's time to remind Panem that the girl on fire is still here, still alive. That the Capitol hasn't won. I have two missions, two decisions that I am final in. Keep my brother alive during the Games. Keep the hope of the Mockingjay alive until I die. And pray for the best when it's over.

I will do it the only way I know how, with words and an unfailing resemblance to my mother.

In a few weeks we will be changed. We will forget home and forget what it meant to be as safe as we could be. But right now, before all the fear, before all the bloodshed, we stand in front of the very symbol we will do all we can to protect. And when we turn and see half of Twelve behind us, staring at it with smiles and tears, their three middle fingers raised in salute. We believe we can succeed. We believe we can change the world.

That is until the Peacekeepers arrive and I'm shown firsthand what the Capitol will do to people who even think of defying them.

"_So go, come alive and let yourself show,  
the way it was when we were growing older,  
the way it was when we were singing,  
hold on tight,  
you're not alone" _

– Little Vessels – The Lighthouse and The Whaler


	3. Aftermath - Ivy and Katniss

The Quarter Quell: Aftermath – Ivy and Katniss

Ivy -

I don't really remember when the gunshots started. I don't remember when the Peacekeepers set fire to the wall and started raiding the houses for contraband. I don't remember how it all began, it just sort of collapsed into one giant frenzy of chaos. And I started running with Bas through it all.

I hear screaming. I smell fire. I'm choking on smoke. And before I know it I'm grabbed by a Peacekeeper. Bas tries to push his way through the crowd to get to me. But it's impossible. He's fighting against a wave of frightened people and he can't break through.

"Mellark!" The Commander, I think his name is Slate, shouts as I'm pulled with a group of others to stand in a clear area surrounded by shacks.

We stand in a line. A small unit of Peacekeepers in front of us, others continue to make their way through the Seam, rifling through homes for contraband and any sign of resistance is met with swift action. Its chaos and all I hear are the sounds of it.

I have never felt this terrified in my life. I have never seen what Peacekeepers will do when faced with opposition or the extremes the Capitol will take. My heart pounds as Slate walks up and down the line.

"I should have known you'd be involved, just like your stupid mother," he snaps, inches from my face, his breath reeking of alcohol and mint. "If you weren't scheduled for the arena, I'd shoot you on the spot."

He looks like he's about to continue up the line but then snaps his fingers as if a realization has hit him. I see the act. The show he's putting on for all of us. This is fear. This is power. He is in charge and he's enjoying it. "Still, examples must be made."

He hits me. Hard. Right across my face. I fall to the ground, spots dancing across my vision. A pain throbs across my right cheek and up to my eye. It hasn't begun swelling yet, but I know in a few minutes, it will. I taste blood and subtly check if all my teeth are still in. They are. It's coming from a cut on my lip.

I didn't know a single punch could do so much damage. I really am unprepared for the arena. I am unprepared for what I've caused or thought about causing. And I think I'm starting to regret everything. That fear returns, the panic that felt like it was going to kill me right after the Quell announcement.

I feel my lungs burn and my breath gets shorter, sharper. I can't let this happen. Not here. Not in front of them. I try to fight it, but I'm failing and Slate looks at me with victory etched all over his satisfied smile. But it's not enough for him.

"Kill the rest," Slate orders.

"No!" I'm suddenly on my feet, screaming, trying to grab the guns, to do something. But Slate hits me again and this time he twists my arm as I'm forced to the side.

The Peacekeepers raise their guns. I look at an older woman. Her eyes find mine and I see no anger towards me. These people should hate me. This is my fault. Bas painted the symbol, but I was going to do the same thing with words. What did I think was going to happen when it came time to fight? Did I really believe that my mother lived her life according to their rules for no reason? Did I think I could fight without consequence? Did I think I could win?

It must show on my face because the woman smiles like she's trying to comfort me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. She looks at me curiously and very slightly shakes her head. She turns back to the firing squad before her and spits. It hits one of their boots.

I hear a laugh from a child. And then the guns go off.

I hear someone screaming. I only realize it's me when I feel the tears on my cheeks and the rawness of my throat. Slate throws me to the ground in disgust, I can't tell. He and the Peacekeepers leave me there as they finish raiding the houses and put out the fire.

What have I done?

I look at the shoes and count them. Six pairs. Six dead. Four are men. One is the old woman. And one is too small to be lying there. This shouldn't have happened.

What have I done?

I see blood, mixing with the black coal dust and the slush. I want to throw up. But I can't move. I'm shaking, cold and wet, but I stay lying on the ground.

I thought I knew what Hell was. Living with traumatized parents, one who let her fear beat her down and break her. The threat of the arena. Constant attention and invasion of privacy from the Capitol, the whole of Panem knowing my name before I could talk. But I had no idea. I don't starve like these people. I'm trained to hunt. And the Games pale in comparison to this moment right now. I deserve to be in that arena. For this right here.

And so does Bas.

We thought we were so smart. That we knew more, that we could do more, should do more. But what can we really do? And should we, when this is the result?

We were wrong. I was wrong. I was stupid. Why would anyone want to bring back the Mockingjay when this is the result?

Katniss –

I'm climbing through the fence when I hear screaming. I look towards the Seam where I can see smoke rising. Then I hear gunshots and my heart stops. This shouldn't be happening. Why now?

I am running towards the screams. I have to be there. I shouldn't be seen. It will only make it worse. I should stay away but there's something telling me to go.

Run faster. Can't slow down. Don't question.

I barely notice when I pass the bakery and Peeta runs out to join me.

You have to hurry.

You have to run faster.

You have to.

I freeze when I see a crowd of people pushing their way into the town square, away from the Seam, and a blonde haired boy of fourteen is with them.

"Bas!" I scream. He looks at me, his grey eyes wide with fear.

I force my way through the people to him. Peeta behind me. We reach him. I check him over. He's a little dirty, covered in soot, but otherwise fine. I don't have time to ask him why he's here or what's happening. I only know there's one other person I need to find.

"Where's your sister?"

Bas looks around, shakes his head like he's been expecting her. But then I see his hands shake as he comes to a realization.

"They grabbed her."

A different fear settles in my stomach. An acid burns in my throat. This isn't the same anger and expectation that I had when the Quell was announced. This is new. This is direct interference. This is harming her before they play with her.

Peeta nods to me and pulls Bas to the side. I hear him say, "Tell me everything that happened," before I'm running towards the Seam. Towards the very danger I've tried to prevent from returning.

I feel like I've been running in a giant circle. This has all happened before and it will all happen again. Never ending. Never changing. Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.

I hear a final round of gunshots and I stop. They wouldn't kill her. Not when she's going into the arena. They need their Games. They need their tributes. But I can't say for sure what they would or wouldn't do. I'm cold and I feel like a hole has been torn through me. But I push myself forward. I need to know for sure.

With each step I remember the old me. The one who went hunting to feed her family. The one who would do anything for her sister. And I don't think I've changed that much. But then I remember laughing with Gale. Peeta feeding me and giving me hope when I had none. When I went into the Games. Killed Marvel. Lost Rue. The Mutts. The berries and what all of it has done to me. I feel broken again.

Then, I remember falling for Peeta. The boy with the bread. The one who brought me back to life. I remember him holding me on our victory tour. Making the nightmares go away. And even though we were forced into it, even though we did it to prevent war, I remember our wedding. And I think I was happy.

I remember giving birth to our daughter. I remember hearing her cry and being too afraid to touch her. Afraid to love her. Afraid I would destroy her. Afraid that I would infect her with whatever weakness I had caught from being under the Capitol's control.

I stopped them from dying.

That's the lie I keep telling myself. In reality, I killed their hope. And I know firsthand how powerful that feeling is and what it can give to someone.

When my son was born, my fear had lessened. I became complacent. I accepted my life. I accepted the new me. And forgot all about the girl I once was.

The girl on fire. A Mockingjay. Something the Capitol tried to kill but couldn't. Because she's still in me, still there. Still willing to sacrifice herself for others.

And now she's fighting to the surface with every step.

I hear Peacekeepers ahead of me and hide behind one of the shacks. They are laughing while their leader, Slate, runs down a list of new rules for Twelve.

"Anyone out after curfew will be killed on the spot. Anyone outside the fence will be beaten then executed. Anyone caught trading will be beaten. And I want guards at the entrance to the Victor's Village day and night, as well as, patrols around the fence and mines. Twelve has been lax in their laws for far too long."

They pass by and my hand shakes. I can't go in the woods. I can't have my freedom, if only temporarily. But then another thought crosses my mind. How will I make sure Ivy is ready for the arena? She can't go in like me, unsure, afraid to die. She has to be stronger. She has to come out alive.

But if she does, Bas will die. And I need the silent, peaceful boy to live. I need them both to live.

And that's when it truly hits me. What these Games will mean. No matter what happens, I will lose at least one of my children. I had been avoiding thinking about it. Been deluding myself, like Bas. But now, I can't stop imagining what will happen. How one of them could go. How I will feel with one walking out, damaged, but alive, while the other lies in a plain box to be buried.

I shake my head as if willing it away. I need to find Ivy. I need to make sure it hasn't already happened.

The Seam feels empty. There are no more screams. No more gun shots. And all I hear is a faint crackle as the last embers die out. The Peacekeepers have all gone and all the people who live here are surely scattered about Twelve cursing my name. After all, this wouldn't have happened if not for me. If I had just eaten those stupid berries long ago.

The sun begins to set as I step over a body. Someone trampled to death in the chaos and I force myself to check them. To make sure it isn't Ivy. It's an older man. Rail thin. It's possible he had already been dead before the attack, but I can't be sure.

Then I look up and down the pathway between the shacks and I see a small clearing, where laundry lines intersect and the shacks surround in a circle. I see someone lying on their side, back facing me. I can't make out who it is or if they are even alive. But then I recognize the messy ponytail. And the jacket Effie gave her long ago. It's similar to my fathers, but it's a darker shade and made of richer, almost red, leather.

I feel like my limbs have turned to liquid metal and as I get closer, its hardening, slowing me down, preventing me from continuing forward. I'm afraid of what I'm about to find, of what they've done to her. I force myself to keep moving.

I get closer and I can see that she's breathing. I'm relieved but only for a moment. A gust of wind whistles through the Seam and I pull my jacket closer. I'm cold and getting colder as it gets darker. I don't know how long she has been lying there in the snow and on the freezing ground. I need to get to her.

With a final push I jog the rest of the way to her. And see a row of bodies in a line down from her. I only look long enough to see that they have been shot. And I feel guilty for bringing this upon my District. Once again my decision to save Peeta and myself years ago brings damage to everyone else around me. And Snow will continue to remind me how powerless I am and how much control he has. It's not enough to take my children, he needs to make sure after it's over I'm still his spokesperson for submission, his distraction.

I turn to Ivy whose vision is frozen upon the bodies. And I see a dark swollen bruise along her jaw and up her cheek, stopping near her eye. I know what it means to watch someone die, I know what it means to kill, but she hasn't seen anything like this. I never wanted her to.

I block the bodies as I crouch in front of her. I gently touch her forehead. She's too cold. Possibly hypothermic, something my mother used to treat when winter came around. I remember her telling me to boil water, not too hot or it would shock the system. Just enough so that it was warm, but not too warm. Slowly get the body back to the right temperature without losing a limb or killing them.

"Ivy," I say, my voice straining from my run here.

She doesn't respond. She doesn't move.

"We have to go," I try. "You need to get warm or you'll die out here."

She's shaking. "I deserve it."

"What?"

"It's our fault," she chokes out, blinking back tears. Finally breaking from whatever state she forced herself into.

"What did you do?"

She shakes her head, barely moving. And I remember that I need to get her inside before I can continue this discussion. I rub her arms, and hold her hand, trying to pull her up but she doesn't grab it back and just remains lying.

"Ivy, lying here is not going to help anyone."

I feel like I'm lying. Like I shouldn't tell her to get up when I've been faced with the same feeling for years. Before we were successful in stopping the revolution, I watched a man in Eleven get shot for whistling a familiar tune as the people saluted me. And I felt responsible. I was responsible. All the tributes I've lost, I'm responsible for them too. There are days where I don't want to get out of bed. I should tell her I understand, but first I need her to move.

"I'm tired." She begins to close her eyes and I shake her.

"No, you can't sleep right now, okay? We need to get home, you can sleep there." I know I can't carry her. I can't save her on my own.

Peeta could. I wish he was here.

I remove my father's jacket and drape it over her. Then, I lie down beside her. The ground is freezing against me and I begin to shake. I hold her close, trying desperately to keep her warm.

"Please. Get up," I whisper.

The sun disappears and I wonder why no one has returned yet. Maybe they aren't ready to see the dead. Maybe they want us to die out here.

I can no longer feel my limbs. And when Ivy closes her eyes, I realize I am too cold to stop her. I start to feel tired. And when I hear footsteps, my eyes shut.

I only choke out, "Save her."

"_But the day will come,  
when it falls like a cheap house of plastic  
And the cards that we dealt,  
will be tossed like a storm in the sky  
'Cause you can only lie for so long before you get something drastic  
And the kids are lined up on the wall,  
and they're ready to die  
And the kids are lined up on the wall,  
and they're ready to die"_

-The Kids Are Ready to Die – The Airborne Toxic Event


	4. Reaping - Katniss and Ivy

The Quarter Quell: Reaping – Katniss and Ivy

Katniss –

I wake up in a chair beside a fire with a blanket over me. My neck is stiff from the position I was sleeping in. I recognize the fireplace as typical of the homes in the Seam, meaning someone must have pulled me inside. Panic sets in and I remember my daughter lying out in the cold, freezing and dying as I tried to save her.

"Ivy?" I call out, frantic.

I force myself to stand even though my limbs protest and the blanket falls. My heart is pounding as I turn to see her asleep on the dirty and worn couch. She's covered in blankets. The bruise on her cheek is an ugly dark purple. I see her take a breath and my pulse returns to normal.

I kneel beside her and run my fingers through her hair, making sure she's really here. That I'm not dreaming it as I lie outside, freezing to death. My heart is in my throat as I imagine all the ways I could have found her, or, even worse, not found her.

How am I going to mentor her through the Games?

"Katniss."

I turn to see Peeta standing by the couch. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is a mess. He hasn't slept. There's a mixture of relief and pain on his face that I can't describe.

There are many things he wants to say. Things he wants to ask or shout about, but he doesn't. He won't. Instead he picks up the blanket I dropped and wraps it around me.

"You should keep that on."

He sits beside me, twiddling his thumbs and rubbing his palms together. The thought of losing us hasn't left him yet.

"What happened?" I ask.

"After you didn't come back, I went looking."

"Bas?"

"He's in the kitchen with the others."

I look up and see him standing with Prim and two people I've never met. They smile kindly as I meet their gaze. I smile back, grateful that they've helped us when they didn't have to. Prim brings me a mug of something hot.

"Drink this," she orders. I take it from her. The mug warms my hands almost instantly.

"Is she—"I look at Ivy, the color drained from her, her breaths shallow, the injuries on her face. My throat tightens.

"She'll be fine. But you need to drink that."

I sit beside the couch, watching Ivy, making sure she's okay. I know Prim said she will be fine but I need to be sure. Peeta understands as he always does and joins me. He twiddles his thumbs, trying to distract himself from whatever it is he's thinking. I have an idea of what it is, I'm thinking it too. How easily it can all be taken.

"And you're both very lucky," Prim adds as she checks Ivy. I watch her as she waddles. Her frame is too small for how big her stomach has gotten. Prim's going to be a great mother. She wouldn't let her child almost freeze. She would have gotten them out.

"When did you get here?" I ask her.

Prim and Rory don't live in the Seam and even if I wanted they couldn't live in the Victor's Village. So instead of leaving them on their own, I helped them get a nice house with the merchants. Even calling it a wedding present didn't silence their protests, but I'm stubborn and I wouldn't take it back, so eventually they accepted it.

"Abel came and got me after they pulled you two inside."

"Prim, there's a curfew," I try but she waves me off.

"Would you rather I let you two die? You needed help, so I helped. The end. Drink that." She points to the mug in my hand. I do as she says. I don't like the thought of her risking her life for me. I don't want anyone to risk their life for me. And yet I would do it for her. So how can I argue?

She walks back to the kitchen and I see Bas shuffle around. He looks scared. Ashamed even. His resolve finally gets the better of him and he walks in. His eyes are red and he looks like he's been crying.

Peeta helps me stand and doesn't let go of my hand. I look at Abel and his wife. She is cleaning up a plate that must have been for Bas. I feel bad for not knowing her name. She smiles to me once more.

"Thank you," I say. They nod and return to the kitchen. Bas bites his lip as he looks at me.

"I'm sorry," Bas says, shakily.

"For what?"

Peeta squeezes my hand and I feel like I'm waiting for the Quarter Quell announcement again.

"I painted the Mockingjay."

There's a long silence after he admits it. Peeta has already heard this, it's clear by the way he rubs circles on my hand. I put down the mug and take a deep breath. I let go of Peeta's hand.

"I didn't realize what was going to happen. You have to understand—"

"I do understand." I'm not lying. I get it. I know why he did it. He's angry. He wanted to send a message and he truly didn't know what was going to happen. How could he? He's never experienced it first-hand. But it doesn't stop me from being angry about it. That the thing I have given everything to stop can be restarted instantly. I'm angry that it never really went away. And I'm angry that it was my child who brought it back.

But another part of me, a long dormant part that's been silenced for far too long, is laughing at this development. The same part of me that's been laughing since the announcement. Knowing this was always going to happen, knowing that everything I've done to stop it has been for nothing. It's all a joke. A lie that Snow fed me to keep everyone else in line. And, just for a moment, I'm both unsurprised that it was Bas who painted the symbol and proud of him for it.

But I can't tell Bas any of it. The voice of the Capitol, the fragile, beaten down woman I've become, is the one I speak with.

"But it got people killed. And your sister, almost…" I can't bring myself to say it. Not when I know it's going to come soon enough. "Do you want to be in a war?"

I want to throw up when I realize I'm throwing President Snow's words against me right back to my son. The very words that started my downfall.

He doesn't answer.

"Basil," Peeta snaps and Bas looks at me. His eyes are wet with fresh tears and he sniffs.

"No I don't."

"I know you're angry and upset, but other people are going to be the ones who pay for your actions. Not the people you want to pay. Innocent people." I take a breath, trying to shake the memories of the people of Eleven fighting against Peacekeepers, of the bodies lying in the snow last night.

Bas' fists clench. "Then _we_ should fight, and whoever else wants to should, too."

"What?" My stomach drops. I imagine Twelve burned to the ground, dead children lying on battlefields, screams of terror as the boots of Snow's army marches. I smell blood and acid rises in my throat. I swallow it down as I remember Districts fighting back, Peacekeepers beating people in the streets.

I can't let it happen again. I can't be responsible for that wave of endless violence, for a war that we can't win. Panem is broken. There is no beating the Capitol even with the beliefs of those that want to try. They will fail and we will suffer a lot more than Games. There is no one who can change that.

"I'm tired of living like this, knowing I'm going to die, when and where it's going to happen. I'm not going out under their circumstances. They don't own me. And I'm tired of them thinking they do. And I'm not the only one. So a war is coming, I guarantee it, it's just a matter of time, because they're willing, they're just waiting." His eyes are clear, the threat of tears no longer there and they are angry, desperately trying to convince me of something I already know to be true but am too afraid to admit.

"What are they waiting for, Bas?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"For you. The Mockingjay."

I'm taken aback and Peeta is the one who steps in.

"You need to stop. It'll get worse if you continue. From now until reaping day, you come home before nightfall; you work in the bakery or go to school. Those are your options." Peeta shudders, like he's hurting himself with every word.

Bas laughs. "So I'm grounded until the Capitol takes me to kill me? That's fair. I'm sorry people died for what I did. I should have thought it through better, put it somewhere else, probably, but I will never be sorry for painting it. Because that symbol is the only hope this country has."

He goes back into the kitchen. Peeta and I are stunned silent. I want him to be wrong, but he isn't. _That symbol is the only hope this country has_. It's the only hope anyone has for changing things. But I won't be the one responsible. I can't be.

When my children's names are called, I'll know it's my fault they are standing on that stage. And if Bas is any indication, I know they will blame me for being a coward. I shouldn't have stopped the revolution all those years ago, but then where would I be? How many lives would I be responsible for ending?

And how many lives am I responsible for ending now because I succeeded in ensuring life went on as usual?

Will my children be added to the list of dead who blame me for their fate?

"Is keeping him from enjoying the last couple weeks really fair?" I ask quietly.

Peeta sighs. "No, but I don't want him out with the Peacekeepers. They'll make him pay for it. I'm not letting anyone else in this family get hurt."

"It's going to happen soon enough," I whisper. His hand grips tighter and he turns to look at me, the lines around his eyes more visible. A frown running deep on his face.

"Not if I can help it."

"They won't let them both live."

He breathes and shakes his head. He can't bring himself to say whatever it is he wants to, or maybe he just can't admit the reality. Instead he kisses my hand and gives me back the mug.

I take a sip of the warm liquid. It's a kind of broth that's common in Twelve. There's not much in it to give it substance, but it's warm, and right now, with my body still recovering from almost freezing, it's welcome.

There's stirring behind us and I put the mug back down, forgetting I need it as I turn. Ivy tries to sit up but she's tangled in blankets and can't get off the couch. She's clearly disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings and groggy from sleep. I shush her as I kneel down and place my hands on her shoulders to keep her still.

Her eyes meet mine and she settles back down.

"It's okay," I tell her. Her eyes lose focus and I know she's remembering the events of last night. I've done this to myself many times before. Remembering every moment of the arena and wondering what I could have done to save Rue.

She starts to shake and I see the tears coming. "It's okay," I repeat as I smooth back her hair. I pull her close, suddenly afraid I might lose her again. She falls into the embrace and sobs.

Bas hovers in the kitchen, pacing back and forth; alternating between glaring at me and staring sympathetically at her. I would laugh at every change in expression if not for the lead in my stomach, the weight of knowing I will have to go through this again and of knowing the damage that has been done to my daughter.

The same damage I have had done to me. In District Eleven. In the arena. Seeing someone die is not an easy thing, and it changes you.

She's too weak to keep crying but she continues to lean on me. Peeta is beside us and rubs her back as I let go of her. She sits up on her own but won't look me in the eyes.

"Ivy," I try but she still won't look at me. "It wasn't your fault."

I remember her lying on the ground. How she said it was because of her, and I know that blame. This wasn't her. She can't go into the arena with guilt when she has to fight for her life.

Sympathy is getting me nowhere and I remember how afraid I was when she gave up. How angry I was that she gave up. I still am angry. The other me, the victor, the killer, the girl on fire, she's angrier. And I let her take control.

"Ivy." I'm sharp and her wide eyes snap to mine. This is an old voice from interviews, with a dress on fire. A girl standing in an arena holding berries to my mouth so I wouldn't have to come home alone. "Don't you ever just lie there like that again." I don't need to tell her she can't give up. She knows, and it would be hypocritical.

"Got it?" I add and she nods, wiping the last of her tears away. "No more crying."

"They…"

"I know what they did. But you don't let them do it to you."

"What about the arena?"

It's the first time she's asked about it. The first time anyone has mentioned it out loud. The frightened me wants to scurry away and never think of it as memories of mutts with familiar eyes resurface. The girl on fire keeps talking. The Mockingjay keeps control.

"What did I say?"

"Don't let them."

"Fight," I tell her. "Prim's gonna check on you and then we're going home."

I kiss her forehead and she stares at me like it's some new action and then I realize that it is. I've given her hugs, quick small ones but only when she's initiated them. I've never given her a goodnight kiss. I've tucked her in when she's asked but I've never kissed her. Maybe once when she was a baby, when she was first born, but I can't even remember if I did then.

It's always been Peeta who's been the affectionate one. Never me.

I stand back while Prim checks her over. Peeta watches me, a curious smile toying at him, and I feel a strength returning. I hug Bas and give him a kiss on the forehead. He allows it to happen even though he's still angry.

I feel as if I'm finally realizing how much I love them when they are about to be taken from me. It's a cruel feeling. I've done all I can to keep them at a distance but still, I am not ready for reaping day. None of us are.

In an hour we leave the house and make our way through the Seam. People are cleaning up the wreckage from the night before, rifling through stuff that was tossed hoping to salvage something.

Peeta keeps Ivy close, holding her up when she struggles to walk. She still has a blanket around her coat and she shakes slightly, but she's moving. We need to leave before the Peacekeepers see us here. The last thing they need is a reason to tear through people's homes again.

We reach the Victor's Village without incident but arrive to two Peacekeepers guarding the entrance.

"Where have you all been?" one asks.

Bas is beside me and I see him stiffen, his hand curls but he stops himself from taking any action. Ivy keeps her eyes glued to the ground and Peeta has a tight hold on her. I look right at him. He's young, maybe in his twenties, his helmet obscures most of his features but I can make out a scar on his chin.

"Walking," Peeta replies with a smile. "Is that illegal?"

"Go on." The Peacekeeper ushers us inside. He spits behind us as we walk through then turns to the other guard, "I can't wait till reaping day."

I stop. My blood boils and I feel acid rising. I turn back and begin making my way towards them, readying to give them a fight, but Peeta grabs my arm. I look and see Ivy leaning against the door of the house, Bas holding her upright.

Even from a small distance I can see her bruise glaring at me and I remember everything that happened.

I look at Peeta and he shakes his head. I nod.

"What's the problem?" the Peacekeeper with the scar asks.

"No problem. Just thought I was going to be sick," I reply monotonously. Peeta and I make our way inside.

Ivy –

My mother barely lets me out of her sight for the rest of the night and when we eat we are silent. No one wants to address what happened and I'm not entirely sure I know how to broach the subject. I saw something in her earlier, an old light that hadn't completely died and she was the mother I always wanted, not the one the Capitol gave me.

I go to bed without so much as a word. My face is sore and all I want to do is shut my eyes and forget the past day, but as soon as I close them I hear the child's laugh and the guns.

I see the blood, feel the cold ground beneath me as I lie there, and I count the shoes.

I know it's not real. This is a nightmare, but the bodies rise and they stare at me, their faces covered in blood. The child is laughing and kicking me with all the fury his short legs can muster.

I'm screaming as the Peacekeepers laugh over and over again before firing.

I'm shaken awake by my father. I'm flailing, fighting him, and I land a hit but soon realize that I'm not being attacked, that the nightmare has ended.

He rubs his jaw from where I punched him. My cheeks are wet from tears and I'm shaking as the remnants of the nightmare disappear.

"I'm sorry," I croak. He shakes his head.

"I know. It's okay." He pulls me close and I shut my eyes. I cling to his shirt like I did when I was five and the scent of flour and baking bread greets me. I feel safe.

"Were you baking?"

He nods. "I was going to send some bread to Abel and Nina."

"Is mom asleep?"

"No. Do you want her?"

I don't answer. Maybe because I'm not sure or because I don't know which version of her I will get. I want the mother who kissed my forehead and was by my side in the snow. I'm afraid of getting the other one.

I lie back down and my father leaves. I hear two sets of footsteps, his heavier ones and lighter, delicate ones. I realize my mother was waiting outside the door and regret not asking for her.

My face heals as reaping day nears. The cold winter changes to spring and the Peacekeepers maintain their watch. As the days pass without being able to go into the woods, I plan for the Games. Strategies occupy my mind and I spend hours thinking of ways to defeat one and two. After a while, even strategies don't help my anxiety and I find myself awake at all hours of the night wishing I could hide in a tree and enjoy the peace of the woods one last time.

For how bad I am, my mother is worse. Whatever spark was growing within her is losing its power as the woods become unattainable. For all the nights I'm awake, they don't come close to the amount of times I hear her screaming and pacing. She can't sleep or function without a place to call her own. A place where the Capitol can't control her.

She tries a few times and makes it through unseen, but she never brings back game. That would be too risky. I'm sure she just sits out there in the calm, with the occasional song of a mockingjay, and I wish to go out there too, but I can't. The Peacekeepers watch Bas and me too closely. They would know if I went missing. I would rather she get to enjoy the woods for a few more days before the reaping than risk us all being beaten.

Bas goes to the bakery with my father every day. He doesn't speak of revolution or of the Mockingjay. He rarely speaks at all. The Games haven't even begun and they've already changed us.

When I sit in the bakery, watching Bas lift heavy sacks of flour the day before the reaping, I realize why my father wanted him there. I know how to hunt and now Bas has the strength to survive the arena. I'm not going to let him die, but if we get separated, he can survive on his own just as my father did before my mother found him.

Haymitch visits the night before and we have dinner just as we did the day of the announcement. I can't eat, not when I already know what happens tomorrow. Bas overeats from both his nerves and day of working.

We don't talk much, not even my father who can change a room with a sentence.

The screens have already been running with pre-Games coverage. Showing highlights from the past victors, making guesses as to who will be reaped from Districts with more than one Victor. One and Two are the Districts they are most excited about, as per usual.

Haymitch and my parents decide to watch some of the coverage and get a feel for who will be reaped. They want to figure out weaknesses, give us the best chance, but I can't stand to listen to any of it. I will when the Games come around, but right now, I want one last night of peace even if my dreams will be filled with blood and gun shots.

I hear some of it as I walk up the stairs.

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith have been announcers for what seems like forever and they don't seem to have aged at all. I think the Capitol has doctors that can manage it, but I'm always amazed by their lack of age every year. It's unnerving.

Caesar has chosen a shocking yellow as this year's hair and suit arrangement. It almost hurts my eyes to look at it. I stand on the stairs, frozen when I hear my name.

"Let's talk about Ivy and Basil Mellark. We've heard so much about who may or may not be in the Games, let's talk about who will." Claudius is the one who brings it up and he looks right in the camera before looking at Caesar.

"Did you bring them up because you know they're my favorites?" Caesar jokes and Claudius laughs along.

"I'll let you talk about them because they're your favorites."

Our pictures flash up on the screen.

"Well, District Twelve hasn't seen a winner in twenty five years. If anyone's going to break that streak I think it'll be one of the children of the very Victors who won the last time. Over the years we've watched them grow and I'm very excited to see what they can do. But I also think it's a very fitting bookend to the star-crossed lovers that both their children go into the arena together." Caesar's so casual that I want to throw up. It's fitting, a bookend, entertainment for the Capitol, a message to everyone else. My nails dig into my palm as Claudius speaks.

"Yes, the interesting thing about this Quell is it's all legacy tributes. We don't know whose skills they will favor, if at all, and with the Mellarks there's no telling if one of them will use a bow or not. That's honestly very exciting."

"I agree. Even with interviewing Ivy over the years there's no telling which way she will go. But I do believe the odds are in her favor." Caesar smiles wide, taking up half his face. My stomach turns.

"But Twelve is not the only District we're sure about. Let's look at Four. Now, the female tribute is up in the air, as we've discussed, but the male tribute is definitely going to be Beck Cresta."

Beck's picture is shown. He has dark hair down to his chin and golden skin, with blue eyes. He smiles in his picture like he's without a care. I wish I could feel like that. I've never met any of the other Victors, but I have heard the story of his mother and how she went crazy after the arena. I wonder what that must be like growing up. I've dealt with my share of nightmares and screaming parents because of the arena, but not like him. He looks strong.

"That was a bit of a scandal, remember that, Claudius?"

"Never named the father, poor boy, let's hope he's better suited for the arena than she was."

"Or that he's as good a swimmer. Maybe he'll get lucky like her." They laugh and it's clear they've discounted Beck Cresta from District Four as nothing more than another dead body.

I don't know if I should be relieved that I'm considered worthy of analysis or not. I sit down on the stairs, wondering if I will have to kill Beck Cresta from Four, if I will be the one who ends the smile.

"Enough." My father shuts off the screen.

"Peeta, we have to know who," Haymitch starts, but he's cut off.

"We will after the reaping. I can't hear about it anymore, not when we know those kids' parents."

"And they're probably doing the same thing right now. Who gets coverage. Who doesn't. Who's a threat." Haymitch takes a drink. My mother sighs.

"We saw enough. They'll do the same thing tomorrow night and we can watch it on the train. Goodnight, Haymitch, we'll see you tomorrow," my mother tells him. Haymitch nods and walks himself out. He stops at the door and notices me on the stairs.

"See you tomorrow," he says with a smile and I return it. He takes the bottle with him and shuts the door as he leaves.

I look over into the living room and watch as my father slumps on the couch. My mother takes his hands in hers and they touch their foreheads together. They are silent like that for a while. I turn away and watch the door, counting the minutes until I will have to leave this house and join a long history of dead tributes from Twelve.

I lose track of time until Bas sits beside me. He nudges my shoulder and hands me a cookie. It looks like a leaf, painted perfectly in shades of green.

"I made it." He smiles and I take a bite. It's under cooked and over salted. I eat it anyway. I give him a thumbs up as I try not to grimace, but he knows I'm lying. I finish it anyway. He plays with the laces on his shoes. Neither of us says anything. We're both enjoying these last hours of peace before we're rushed off to the Capitol and made to kill for sport.

He stands. "Well, I'm off to bed. Good luck tomorrow. Don't fall."

"Don't cry," I retort. He indicates his face with his hand.

"This face and tears, not gonna happen." We laugh as he walks up the stairs. I wonder if I'll laugh again before the end comes. I shake my head to try and will the morbid thoughts away. There's no point in dwelling on my inevitable demise, I'll just have to try and enjoy the little things. That is if there's anything to enjoy before the arena takes me.

My mother quickly takes my brother's place next to me. She rests her chin on her hand, propped up by an elbow on her knee. She looks at me, asking if I'm ready without needing to voice it aloud.

I shrug.

It's the silent conversations between us that I enjoy the most. She drops her arm and makes to reach for me but pulls back. She's building a wall. One that won't be so easily broken when I'm faced with absolute death. She needs to be strong from this point forward. A mentor readying to keep her tributes alive for as long as possible and hoping one will be a victor.

A part of me, the logical part, understands what's happening, but the scared child craving her mother's love and affection isn't so mature. She's railing against the rules set forth by this world. She's begging and crying not just to keep her life but to get a new one, a better one. A world where children aren't killed for entertainment or to settle old scores. I feel tears, but I swallow them. I can't allow myself to cry, not now, not ever from this point forward. I'm in the Games starting tomorrow and tears are weakness. I have to get over it without showing it.

My mother senses it. I can see it in the way she watches me. She nods, because she knows. She's done it for years.

"You should get some sleep," she says quietly.

"I don't think I can."

"You should try. Maybe you'll get lucky."

"I don't think luck really runs in our family."

She smirks but lets it fade. I hear my father shuffling around in the kitchen.

"What's he doing?" I ask as I look towards the noise.

"He's not going to sleep, so he's baking. Stress reliever." My mother smiles absently, like she's remembering days gone by where she first learned all the things that my father did when he was scared, or stressed, or angry.

"Are you going to sleep?" I ask after a minute. I don't often see my mother smile like that and I wish I could. I feel bad for breaking it when I speak.

She shakes her head. "I'll just have nightmares."

I don't know how to respond. She doesn't talk about the nightmares, not to me, not out loud. But if there was ever a time to start it's now, in the breath before the fall.

"What are they about?" I ask quietly, scared to continue but wanting to know more.

"Different things. A lot from the arena. But lately, well since you were born, it's been about losing you. All of you." She looks away like she's ashamed to be scared. I rest my head against her shoulder. There's a comfort that I get and I'm sure she feels it too because she rubs my shoulder and pulls me closer. She kisses my forehead and rests her chin on my head.

I shut my eyes and let myself feel safe. I don't think I'm going to feel this again.

"Guess the nightmares came to life," she whispers and I almost don't catch it. She lets go of me and I slide away.

"Do you think I should wear anything special?" I change the subject quickly and she laughs, short but genuine.

"I don't think it's going to make them change their mind," she quips.

I shrug. "I was thinking more along the lines of like sponsors or whatever." My voice fails after that and we're both brought back to reality.

She nods, before getting up. "Come with me."

I follow her to my parent's bedroom. She rifles through drawers, trying to find something. I sit on the end of the bed, looking at a painting that hangs on the wall. My father often paints the Games but this is of a lake that I recognize out in the woods. There are birds in the trees and a bright orange sunset. The trees and outlying grass are a deep rich green.

It looks so real. I wish I was there now.

My mother finds what she's looking for. It's small, wrapped in a piece of old cloth that hasn't seen the outside of the drawer in a while. My mother sits beside me and un-wraps the cloth delicately. I see a flash of gold as she opens it up before laying it on the bedspread before me.

"You can use this as your token. It'll keep you safe." She holds up the Mockingjay pin and I forget to breathe.

"Really?" I ask, scared. I remember what the Peacekeepers did. I don't want that to happen again over a pin.

She nods, determined, the light in her eyes back. "I want you to wear it."

It's settled. I take the pin from her. It feels too light for the weight it carries. The symbol. The spark. The hope. I feel like I'm holding it all in my hand and I regret ever wanting to carry it in the first place.

But I will carry it, because my mother needs me to and because if I do, she will return. I won't let the Capitol kill the fire so easily again. The embers are catching and they will regret ever trying to stomp them out.

The Mockingjay is returning.

I manage to catch a few hours of sleep to my surprise. I wake with the pin resting on a simple white dress beside my bed and the smell of baked goods throughout the house.

I bathe then dress, pinning the Mockingjay where it will be visible as well as close to me.

My hair is drying as I walk into the kitchen. Bas is in a collared shirt and slacks with his hair slicked back. I sit at the table as my father places a cheese pastry in front of me. I smile, gratefully and pick at it.

My mother is in an orange dress with yellows and reds along the bottom in a wave pattern. It almost looks like fire. I wonder if it's a dress Cinna sent. My father is dressed similarly to Bas, only his shirt is the same color as my mother's dress.

I swallow a few bites of the cheese pastry but can't force myself to eat anything else.

"Mom?" I take a breath. My question is strangely heavy. "Can you braid my hair?"

She pauses, almost shocked that I asked before nodding. "Of course."

We sit in the living room, only the sound of her brushing my hair filling the space. She goes through the process easily but delicately, like she's savoring every second, memorizing every moment. Clinging to the last moments of her daughter before the Capitol breaks us apart.

It's over too soon and my hair is braided just as there's a knock on the door. My father answers it.

He returns a few seconds later, somber, with Haymitch behind him.

"Time to go, kiddies," Haymitch announces. "The uniforms are getting restless."

I see Peacekeepers waiting at the door, shifting from one foot to the other, staring at us expectantly.

"Is that really necessary? We're not gonna run." Bas glares at them.

"It's a show." Haymitch smirks.

We slowly make our way to the door before being forced into a line and marched out of the Victor's Village and through Twelve to the square.

The stage and the cameras are all set to go. The District is gathered but they lack the enthusiasm of places like One and Two. Even Effie lacks her usual attitude and fervor. Over the years she's maintained the lilt in all the right places, but I've learned to recognize an act and she puts one on. She's still Capitol, still views this as slightly entertaining and an honor, but I think she's learned to see the tributes as people since my parents became Victors.

She's watched us grow, given us gifts. I think she loves us more than someone who's only a fan would. I think she thinks of us as family, or whatever passes for it in the Capitol.

We are marched to the stage. Each bowl only contains one slip of paper. My parents and Haymitch stand to the side as the Mayor and family walk out. I stand beside the bowl with my name. Bas does the same with his.

Effie works her way through the usual speech, pausing to take a breath and compose herself every once in a while. The same video plays about the rebellion that's played for a hundred years. I see my aunt Prim in the crowd with her husband, Rory. She's crying and he's holding her for dear life.

My grandmother is beside them, clinging to my aunt and fighting back tears. I want to cry too but I know I can't. I nod to let them know its okay. Bas stares at the ground in front of the stage. His hands shake, which he tries to hide by curling them into fists. I pray the cameras don't catch it. That One and Two aren't watching and making note of his fear.

Effie takes a deep breath and says, "Ladies first." She looks to my mother, and I notice her lip quiver. My mother nods before Effie turns to me, her eyes watering, hand shaking, and I smile. She pulls the slip of paper with my name on it.

"Ivy Mellark."

I step forward and I stare right into the camera. I have to be strong. I have to make sure they see me as the threat. Focus on me, forget about Bas. Fight me, not him. That's the plan. Keep him alive. It starts now.

Effie swallows her tears as she calls, "Basil Mellark."

He steps forward and makes eye contact with the crowd. He turns to look at my mother and kisses his three middle fingers and raises them to honor her.

All of Twelve follows and I do the same.

I don't care that the Peacekeepers drag us inside the Justice building and that we're thrown onto the train in a hurry. I don't care that I get no goodbyes. I want them to see. I want my mother to see. I want these Games to matter, to count and I hope my mother makes Snow pay.

We're silent as the train makes its way closer and closer to the Capitol. Tomorrow we'll be there. Tomorrow I meet the other tributes and I will make sure they come after me. Tomorrow I begin to plan how to kill them all and make sure my brother wins.

Tomorrow I forget the girl from Twelve who went hunting with her mother. Tomorrow I truly live up to my name. Ivy Mellark, daughter of Katniss and Peeta, tribute of the 100th Hunger Games.

And when it's over it will read Ivy Mellark, top three, Basil Mellark, Victor.

I just hope I'm brave when the moment comes for me to die and I hope my family understands when they bury me. I don't want Twelve to come. I don't want them to honor me because I won't be me when it happens. I'll be the arena me. The one forged in fire and war, surrounded by death. I just hope they remember me as I was, not as the killer I'm going to become.

I shut my eyes and try to remember growing up in Twelve. How I used to run through the Seam with Bas and other children. I remember when I learned to hunt and track, the feeling of peace in the woods with my mother. I recall the smell of the bakery and the cookies we used to sneak. I remember my aunt Prim teaching me about healing methods and being too bored to listen. I wish I had now. I might need them. I remember my father's hugs and my mother's smile and how she ran her hand through my hair every so often. I even remember Effie dropping by with presents, going on and on about how much the Capitol loves us and how much we are growing up.

I already miss it all.

"_At the end of the line  
There's no more time  
And you go it alone  
You can never come home  
At the end of the line"_

- Oh Death – Noah Gundersen


	5. Train Ride - Katniss

Part Two:

The Games: Train Ride – Katniss

The train glides smoothly towards the Capitol as carts of food are wheeled in.

"Lunch," Effie trills but only Haymitch follows her to the table. Effie still has bright hair, with an outfit to match, but she doesn't prattle on about the Capitol like she normally does during this portion of the trip.

Last year our tributes were both fifteen and the girl, Iris, spent the night throwing up. Effie tried and failed to make her feel better by talking about the things she would see. Iris wasn't very receptive to the welcome speeches and hid in her room whenever she could. The boy, Oliver, was better at taking in everything and he ate until he could barely walk. Neither one of them made it past the bloodbath.

I look at Bas, loosening the tie he wore, hands shaking. He can be angry. He can be headstrong, but he's gentle. I can't imagine him killing anyone. My son is too young to be here and he's not ready for the arena. It will destroy him.

Ivy stares at the ground, focused, like she's coming to terms with something. She might be the same age I was when I entered the Games, but like Bas, she's too young. I was too young. They shouldn't be here.

I try to imagine one of them walking out but I can't. I can't bring myself to choose. To decide which one I think will live. I can't lose them. Not to death. Not to the arena's horrors. Not to nightmares that threaten to claim me.

The Mockingjay pin on Ivy's dress catches the light. Is that the answer? After all these years of trying to escape it, is it time to accept the role? To do what I should have done on the victory tour. Make them see it once again. Hope. Something that has evaded me for so long.

"Are you going to eat?" Ivy asks Bas, breaking the silence.

He shrugs.

"You probably should. We both should." She sighs and stands. Bas follows her to the table and they fill plates. At first, they pick, but the rich food gets the better of them and they dive in, going for seconds shortly after.

We keep them well fed, but they don't get this type of food, the rich delicacies of the Capitol.

I stand and Peeta is at my side.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I nod, leaning into him. "We have to keep them alive."

"We will."

I try to ask him how, how we can make sure they both live when it's against the rules. When even a handful of berries won't change them again. He cuts me off with a kiss. I return it, feeling warmth and comfort spread from my chest all the way to the tips of my fingers. When I kiss him, I remember the dandelion, the first feeling of hope I ever had. He's a light I can always find amongst the endless trips to the Capitol and the years of being forced to play these roles. He breaks it all too quickly. The warmth fades and I'm brought back to the reality of the train continuing on its trek towards the extravagant and bustling city anxiously awaiting the arrival of this years tributes.

"We'll figure it out."

He walks to the table and I can hear his mind turning, planning. I look around the train, expecting a Peacekeeper to barge in and question him. I can't ask, not aloud. He'll tell me when he's ready, but I can't imagine that even Peeta, with his words and plans, can change our children's fate.

After we finish eating, Haymitch turns on the screen to watch the recap of the reapings.

Bas looks anywhere but at the screen. Ivy pays close attention, though. Peeta's real leg bounces as we watch whose children are joining ours in these Games. Children we will help plan to kill, whose parents we have seen for years and helped when our tributes have died.

"For starters, this is a Quell, everything's bigger, more extravagant. And its legacies, which means the Capitol citizens'll be extra excited. I wouldn't be surprised if they're waiting by the training facility," Haymitch says, scratching at his beard.

"Aren't they usually waiting?" Ivy asks. I can hear a methodical nature to her voice. Like Peeta, when she's planning, I know. And she's taking mental notes of everything said.

"There's usually more when a tribute with family history is in the Games," Effie answers, sadly. She looks away from Ivy to the screen, trying to repress tears. I wonder if she ever waited by the training facility, if she dreamed of being an escort, if it's everything she wanted. I can't imagine it is.

"So we should expect to be overloaded by fans?" Bas asks, tersely. Haymitch shrugs. "Perfect, just what I've always wanted."

"I'm sorry," I tell him. He looks at me, shaking his head before taking my hand and giving it a light squeeze.

"It's not your fault, mom." My throat tightens and I forget to breathe. Why doesn't he blame me? He's so angry, why isn't it directed at me? He lets go then turns to Haymitch. "So who's going to be trying to kill us?"

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. I see so much of Peeta in that smile. I can't imagine never seeing it again.

We watch intently as the screen changes to District One. The recap is quick, showing the names, the reactions from Tribute, their Victor parent, and their District before moving on.

As usual, the careers of One and Two are strong, prepared, and all too happy to go into the arena. When it cuts to Four, the attitude is different than that of years past. I already knew Beck Cresta would be the male tribute, but I hadn't been prepared for Annie's reaction.

She holds it together until they call her son's name. She covers her ears and I remember seeing the footage of her in the arena. The seventeen-year-old girl swimming for her life, screaming when her district partner was beheaded. The girl tribute's name is called next, but before the screen can cut out, Beck is next to his mother, holding her together, telling her it'll be okay.

Finnick Odair, the Capitol idol, still adored and desired after all these years, watches them, trying to lead them inside the justice building. There are no roars of applause in Four.

Annie isn't usually on the mentor team but I wonder if this year she will be. Now that her son is being forced into the same circumstances she once faced. Finnick is always on the mentor team and over the years I've gotten used to his prancing around the Capitol and trading floor, his remarks, and his constant attention by Capitol citizens. He usually manages to get the better sponsors, but he hasn't seen a Victor in a few years. Sometimes I wonder if he ever considered living quietly in Four, maybe settling down, or if he prefers his life in the Capitol.

I've heard rumors of Victors being sold for the pleasure of Capitol citizens and Finnick's name often comes up. Never experiencing it first-hand I can't be sure if they are true, but knowing Snow, I don't doubt that they are. Given those circumstances I don't think Finnick had much of a chance to settle down, I don't think he ever had the option to find someone, but we all do what we have to, to survive. And he plays the role of aging playboy just as I play the role of happy wife and mother, forever grateful to the Capitol for allowing Peeta and I to be together.

The other Districts pass by without incident, with most of them only having one option for either the boy or girl tribute. The oldest Tribute, Trina from Nine, still only twenty-three, keeps her head held high as her name is called. The youngest is a nine-year-old boy from Ten whose name I miss. He cries as he stands on the stage.

"He's too young. His name shouldn't even be in there," Peeta says, his hand gripping the edge of his chair.

"He was the only boy, and they need their Tributes," Haymitch says, sadly, taking a drink.

"The Quell said Victor's children, they didn't specify how old," Ivy adds, monotonously. I look at her. She watches the screen, her expression empty, eyes focused but her mind somewhere else. She looks like she's about to be sick.

When Ivy and Bas show up on the screen, it cuts right before the salute. I'm grateful that they look brave. They look capable of caring for themselves in the arena. They don't look like easy targets. It's a small relief considering how much of it's an act.

The recap ends. The room falls silent. I look at Haymitch, needing his guidance, his experience, even after years of being a mentor myself. He nods and stands in front of the screen. All eyes are on him.

"So, what do we think?" he asks. "What allies are we looking at?"

Ivy shakes her head. "No, no allies."

"Ivy, it's-" I try, but she cuts me off.

"I don't want an ally. And no one is going to want to ally with Twelve anyway." She crosses her arms, sitting back in her seat like the argument is settled. I'm reminded of when she was five and wouldn't eat the Katniss roots I dug up, something Haymitch still laughs about to this day.

"This year is different and if you have the skill set, which you do, they will want you as an ally," Haymitch tries.

Ivy continues to shake her head. "I'm not going to run through the arena with someone I don't trust. Not when I'll just have to kill them anyway." She's collected and calm. I'm taken aback by her attitude.

"If this is a vote, I'd rather just stick with her," Bas adds. Ivy nods.

Haymitch stares at Ivy, hard, trying to get her to understand. "If you want to survive, make some friends. Get an ally. It's your best chance."

She swallows and looks away. I watch the exchange. There's something they aren't saying. A hidden message he's giving her.

"Not One or Two. I'll consider the others."

"At least someone in this family is reasonable." Haymitch sits.

"So that's it?" Bas asks.

"What else do you want? Can't strategize until we're in the Capitol, and we won't be there until tomorrow." Haymitch shrugs.

"I'm gonna go to my room then." Bas leaves with Ivy following not far behind.

"I'll be right back," I say before heading towards their rooms. I can hear them down the hallway. I keep my distance, trying to listen but not intrude.

"Whatever they say just agree," Ivy says quietly, trying to convince him.

"Why?" Bas asks. "Shouldn't we actually do what they're saying?"

"I have a plan."

"Yeah your great plan. I'm not going to follow you around in the arena just to watch you die. You're not dying for me, okay?"

"And neither are you. Just listen to me. I'll keep you safe. We don't need anyone else."

"I think we should listen to Haymitch. They'll want you as an ally especially when they know you can shoot."

I can't listen anymore and interrupt. "You don't want to show them all your skills the first day." They jump when I speak. Ivy looks away. "Makes you a target."

"Good thing I don't have anything to show," Bas jokes. I ruffle his hair before pulling him in for a hug.

I stare at Ivy and wait until she makes eye contact. "Can I talk to you?" I'm colder than I mean to be but she agrees all the same.

We leave Bas in his room and walk back to the hallway. I cross my arms. "What's your plan?"

She shrugs. "I don't have one."

"Don't lie to me."

"Do you really want me to answer honestly?" she asks, voice breaking.

I don't need her to tell me the truth. Self-sacrifice runs in the family and I can see the plan as clear as day. She has no intention of surviving these Games. When I volunteered for Prim, I didn't think I had a chance, but I wasn't planning on dying. I just knew I didn't want my sister to die when I could take her place. I understand Ivy's way of thinking, but it doesn't stop me from being angry about it.

"I told you not to give up."

"I'm not. If I was giving up, I wouldn't be trying to save him. I have to."

"Why?" I ask, heart in my throat.

Her eyes are glassy. Her voice cracks when she says, "He's more important." She walks away and I'm left standing alone, heart shattered.

Does she really believe she isn't as important as Bas? I think back on the two of them growing up. I was frightened when she was born, always expecting Snow to show up at my door and take her away. The Capitol was all over her name, a picture of her, and all I wanted was to shield her from it, but I knew I couldn't.

I taught her to hunt. That was all we had, our time in the woods. Peeta was the one who took care of her. Who comforted every nightmare, took care of every illness, read to her. What did I do? I built a wall. I was too frightened of her being reaped, of a future I couldn't guarantee, that I kept her out. I let cameras invade her life, I made her dress up and parade for interviews.

With Bas, my fear was there, but I never made him do the things she did. I let him stay inside instead of forcing him out into the woods. I let him stay silent during interviews. I would bring him things back from the woods. How must that look from her perspective?

Too afraid to love one child, too careless to treat the second the same.

I wish I could go back. I would never stop the war. Maybe I could love them then as they deserve to be loved. Maybe they could be children in a world where there is no fear of Games to take their lives.

I slide down the wall and hold my knees to my chest. I can't breathe. I've failed my children. I made sure my daughter was capable of fighting in the arena but I couldn't be her mother. I was her mentor. And with my son, I was just someone who lived with him. I was no better, just less demanding.

I rock back and forth until Peeta finds me. He gently lifts me up and brings me to our room. I lie on the bed and cry while he holds me tight.

When I'm calm, I stay in his arms, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and warm. I finally talk about what I heard and what Ivy said. Peeta listens, his hold tightening on me when I mention Ivy's plan.

"We can't let her go in thinking she's going to die," Peeta says, scared.

"What can we do? Tell her not to? She won't listen. She wants to save him." I sit up. He shrugs, disappearing into his thoughts. I cup his face and draw his attention back to me. "What is it?"

He shakes his head and tries to comfort me with a smile. It doesn't work. He takes my hand in his. "I don't know. I wish there was an easy answer. Some way…"

"Maybe they'll allow two Victors. Who knows?" My voice is bitter but Peeta laughs, short and breathy.

"We can send them some berries to threaten the Game makers with," he says, pulling me close once again. I smile.

"And then they'll just call the whole thing off."

"If only," he says sadly. I sigh, I wish there was a way for them to call it off. That it was simple. That I could march up to Snow and make him stop this, but I can't. Unless of course, I want to start a war, which is becoming more and more desirable as opposed to watching my children turn into killers or dying.

I wonder what they think of me. Of the Tributes I killed. Do they think it's something I had to do or do they wish, like Peeta, I had become a Victor by chance? I wonder what Beck thinks of his mother who couldn't kill anyone in the arena. She's the only Victor not to have any blood on her hands, even accidentally. She went crazy after it, but no Victor leaves the arena unaffected. At least, none that I've met.

I wonder if he walks through the streets of Four with a smile because even though he's a legacy, even though he doesn't have a father, he's got a mother who didn't kill anyone and survived just the same. The Capitol doesn't focus on many families, namely mine and a few in One and Two. They largely ignore the Victors without interesting stories. I wonder if Beck is glad that he's not interesting enough to have their attention, if that makes him smile even more.

Will Ivy ever smile like him? Will Bas? Are they proud of the family they come from? Or do they wish they could go unnoticed, that they had been born to some other name?

Prim is expecting her baby any day now. I hope her child grows up happy, that it knows how loved it is because it will be loved by her and Rory. Their child will never regret the family it comes from and will never fear or pay for its parents past deeds.

"I should have done better," I whisper as I shut my eyes, trying to fall asleep. "I let them down."

"No, you didn't." Peeta brushes my hair back. "Katniss."

I open my eyes to look at him.

"There is no better. They love you. And you love them, they know that. They will get through this. _We_ will get through this. Trust me."

"How can you be sure?" I ask, defeated.

"Because I have to be." He kisses me and I return it, sinking into the comfort and the safety it provides. The first time I truly felt safe was with Peeta on our Victory Tour. He has the ability to bring me back when I'm about to crumble. No one else does. It started as an act but no act can go on for this long without being true. I don't think I realized how much I loved him until we were married. I hated the cameras, the Capitol extravagance, and I forced a smile for them, my heart pounding as I walked to the altar. It wasn't until I got to him, when he took my hand, that I could breathe. And I didn't have to force a smile or pretend that I wanted to kiss him. I did.

I love him. I need him.

And I need our children to live. I need to burn Snow and the Capitol. I need to make up for the damage I've done. I need to fight back.

But the train keeps moving and as much as I want to fight, I have no way of doing so. When we stop, when we reach the Capitol, we're on display. There is no hiding, no safety, no pretending that we aren't about to lose a child and no planning for anything other than the Games.

For now, I lie in Peeta's arms, praying that the sun won't rise, that the train won't stop and that we won't have to watch our children die.

"_And if we could float away  
Fly up to the surface and just start again  
And lift off before trouble  
Just erodes us in the rain"_

- Us Against the World - Coldplay


	6. Chariot - Ivy

The Games: Chariot – Ivy

I sleep for a few hours, but wake before dawn. I dress and find myself sitting on the bed thinking of the Capitol. In a few hours, we will be bombarded by people and thrown into preparation for the parade later. There will be no time to get settled.

I cherish these last few hours of silence.

I think about killing twenty two other Tributes. Their families watching, one parent who will probably accompany them here as their mentor. My parents facing those people when I end their children's lives. Will they be relieved when I die? Will the monster I turn into even be worth mourning?

The silence becomes overbearing and I force myself to leave the room. It's not really mine, it will never be. It's just a place to sleep, like the room in the training center. The room that was mine, the place that meant more than just a bed to sleep in, is back home, never to be seen by me again.

I glance out the window on my way to the dining area. I can see the sunrise, the bright oranges and deep reds. I've always loved the sunrise. I wonder how many I have left or if I will even be able to see one in the arena.

I walk into the dining car where Effie is examining a plate. She looks at me as I enter. She pulls herself into her usual Capitol smile and I wonder if she's even slept. She still looks just as meticulously prepared as ever, but there's something about her eyes, even hidden under the makeup, that seem so worn.

"Oh, Ivy dear, I didn't think you'd be awake so soon. That's good. I won't have to worry about you being on time," she trills, smiling.

"Just everyone else," I say, taking a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs beside the screen.

She sits across from me in another chair. I haven't spent a lot of one on one time with Effie, but she has given me gifts over the years and tried, desperately, to get me to call her auntie. Something I haven't been able to do, because she's not. She doesn't have any children of her own, but I think she likes to view us as surrogates. Though we're not as refined as she probably wishes.

"You mustn't worry about the Capitol. They will love you. I'm sure of it."

"I'm not worried about them."

"What are you worried about?" she asks, sincerely, and it's the first time I've heard her voice lack its bubbly brightness.

"What happens after."

"You win. You come home-"

I look at her, cold and hard. "I'm not coming home. We both know who I'm going to save. And what I'm going to do in that arena."

She's silent as her hand grips the arm of the chair. If it was possible to tell beneath the makeup I would say she's gone pale.

She takes a deep breath. "Well then, we must make sure that, for the time being, we show them your beauty. And we make sure they remember you."

I can't help but smile.

"There's the real smile. It's much prettier than the usual one."

"What?" I ask.

"There's the face the world sees and the real one. We all do it. The real one is usually better."

She checks her watch and her Capitol trill returns. The fake face back on. I begin to understand not only Effie a little more but my parents as well. There are the brave faces for Twelve, the happy faces for the Capitol and the other Districts, and the real ones that I've seen, if only temporarily.

"It seems it's about that time. Breakfast will be served shortly. I'll go wake the others." Effie squeezes my shoulder as she passes. She leaves the dining car to retrieve everyone else and once again I'm alone with nothing but the silence and my thoughts to keep me company.

I shut my eyes and I must fall asleep for a short while because the next moment I'm being gently shaken awake by my father. I open my eyes and see him smiling at me.

"How long have you been out here?" He asks kindly.

I rub my eyes and shrug. It can't have been too long, but I'm not exactly sure.

"Are you hungry?"

I nod and he offers me his hand to help me off the chair. We walk to the table as my mother and brother arrive. We serve ourselves and once again I'm overtaken by the rich flavors of the food. Bas eats faster than me and is already on his second plate by the time Haymitch shuffles in with Effie ranting about lateness behind him.

"Where's the pin?" my mother asks curiously.

I look down at my dress, realizing I must have taken it off and forgotten to put it back on.

"I'll go get it." I stand and make my way back to the room. I find it on the nightstand and pick it up. The gold shine hasn't weathered over the years. I wonder how many times my mother has taken this out of the drawer. It seems polished, like every so often someone has made sure to keep it intact.

I feel the train slow and grip the pin tight. I realize I'm shaking as I can hear cheers from outside. I return to the dining car. Effie claps her hands.

"Alright, let's give them something to cheer about." She smiles. Haymitch takes a swig from his bottle and follows her out the exit to mild applause.

My father squeezes my mother's hand before holding my brothers shoulder and walking out with him. The crowd gets louder. I look out the window and watch my brother making half waves, the crowd loves him. Their bright outfits and hair are almost blinding against the white of the cityscape. They flood the streets and surround the training center, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the interior of the train or of the Tribute and Victor before them. Some try to touch Bas or my father; they seem to be able to avoid them deftly, my father guiding my brother through.

My mother pulls me close. "Don't look at them. Don't give them anything. They don't deserve it."

I'm taken aback momentarily by the anger and darkness in her voice. I want to smile but I can't respond as she's pulling me forward and the next thing I know I'm standing in bright daylight with a screaming crowd of Capitol citizens before me.

They care most about my mother out of the four of us, but still I hear shouts of my name mixed amongst hers.

She holds my wrist tightly as we walk forward. I can't breathe, all around me are painted faces with eyes of glee and idolization. There's another look too, only in a few, but it's darker and it makes my heart race with fear. I see it in an older man, with gold around his eyes and wearing too much jewelry. When he grabs my other arm, pulling me away from my mother, he stares me up and down like a starving person for food.

"I'll be rooting for you. Just like I rooted for your mother."

My mother returns and shoves him away, placing herself between me and the man. He appears insulted. I can feel the pin digging into my palm as I hold it tighter.

"How dare you?" The man brushes his suit where my mother shoved him. His mouth is agape as if what she's done is unthinkable.

"Don't touch her," she threatens. My father runs back to us.

"Hey now what's the problem?" he asks, trying to smooth it over with a smile, but he knows what happened and I can see an anger threatening to reveal itself in him by the way he clenches his hand.

"Your wife-"

"My wife is not the problem here. We appreciate the support. If you want to sponsor, leave your name with Effie."

The man attempts to interject but my father adds, "Be grateful I got here when I did and that there are people around. Enjoy the Games."

My father steers me back on the path. "Katniss," he calls and my mother stares down the man as he disappears into the crowd. She follows after me. They keep me between them, though the occasional brush of my shoulder or theirs still gets through.

I don't know how I look, but I feel like I'm going to be sick. I watch the ground, trying to block out the cheers and the leering looks. I focus on the metal in my hand. The feel of it. The weight. It helps to silence the noise. I didn't expect it to be this bad.

My mother whispers in my ear, "It's okay. We're almost there. Just watch the ground."

I nod as we pass the last of the crowd. Bas, Effie and Haymitch are waiting just inside as we enter.

"What happened?" my brother asks coming to my side.

"Capitol citizens are an excitable bunch," Haymitch says. "You okay, kid?"

I nod.

"Good. Welcome to the training center, where you will be living in luxury. Until of course you're surviving in a hostile environment where you're not sure when you'll get a meal or if you'll make it to the next day."

"Haymitch," Effie warns. "Your stylists are waiting."

I hand my mother the pin, afraid that I will lose it. Effie guides us to a separate wing as my parents watch us go. I look back and my mother nods as I walk forward with Bas beside me. They get into an elevator and head up to our floor.

"What'd they do to you?" Bas asks quietly as we walk.

I shake my head. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"They were shouting things at me. It was weird. Some woman tried to kiss me." He shudders. "Dad stopped her."

I look at him. "I had some guy grab me." I can feel the impression left behind by how tightly I held the pin. The Mockingjay is outlined in my skin, like a reminder to be strong. Even as it fades I feel like the symbol has been burned into me.

"I hate these people," he whispers.

"Why are they like this?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Because they are."

"That's not an answer."

"It's not a fair question." He groans. "Fine. Because we let them. Because no one stood up to them. Is that a better answer?"

"Maybe."

"What do you think they're gonna do to us?" he asks.

"Set us on fire most likely."

He looks scared and I can't help but laugh.

"Bas, not really, you know that. It's not real fire."

"I know, but still. It's not something I really want," he says, running a hand through his hair.

We pass through a smaller hallway, where I can hear water running and people laughing. Effie stops us in front of two doors on opposite sides of each other. She smiles, proudly, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"Here we are. Ivy you go into the room on your left, Basil the room on your right. I'm sure you'll both look absolutely stunning. I'll see you both later. Remember, chins up and smile." She imitates her advice and we both nod.

"Good luck," I tell Bas before I open the left-hand door.

"Yeah, hope they don't cut all your hair off," he laughs opening the right door.

"I hope they cut yours," I add and he looks offended as I walk into the room.

I'm bombarded by my prep team almost immediately. They kiss me on the cheek and give me a hug like we're old friends. In truth I've seen them maybe once or twice. I was more familiar with my mother's old prep team, as they would come by once a year to get us ready for interviews. They've all since retired or become head stylists for other Districts.

My new prep team, Ambrose, Reeta, and Dietrich, have all chosen to keep the flames motif in their outfits and hair. They fawn over me, trying to impress me with tales of the Capitol and how I'll shine or burn brighter than all the others. There's a big laugh for that joke.

I'm stripped before they hose me down and wax every unwanted hair off my body. This is new. They don't usually do this for interviews because I'm barely on camera. It's not a pleasant experience.

After the uncomfortable waxing, they give me a robe and sit me down. It's at about this time that we break for lunch, which I'm grateful for. They don't talk as much with food in their mouths.

Lunch ends too quickly and it seems they've only become louder with a full stomach. They set to working on my hair, pulling and brushing to get it as smooth as possible. They cut my split ends, and put product after product in my hair. This I'm used to and I sit silently as they work. There's a shine and curl to my dark hair when they're done.

"Oh that looks gorgeous, Ambrose," Reeta says in a high pitched squeal.

"She's so much better at this than some of the others, right?" Ambrose says and the others agree with him.

"Remember the girl last year?" Reeta asks. The others nod in agreement. "She wouldn't sit still. I was afraid I would cut her ear off." They all laugh.

Next they work on my makeup. I sit still as they run black around my eyes to make them stand out, putting light touches of gold on the top.

"Oh that's stunning. Those pretty blue eyes are going to stand out so well," Dietrich says, satisfied with his work.

"They really are gorgeous. I'm jealous," Ambrose says as he adds some gold touches on my arms.

"Well, I mean, look at her parents, of course she's gorgeous. The audience is going to fall all over you. I won't be surprised if you have sponsors lining up out the door come morning," Reeta says with a smile. I try to smile back. I know they are saying what they think will make me feel better, will give me some kind of confidence going into this. They are telling me what they know, what they think is good news.

All I keep picturing is the Capitol man that grabbed me and the leering looks as I walked to the training center. I keep imagining how pretty they'll think I am when I'm killing some other Tribute or when I'm lying on the ground dead. Will they find my eyes so stunning when there's no life in them?

After what seems like forever they finally deem their work done and hug me goodbye. Once the door shuts I feel like I can breathe. I slump in my seat, careful not to mess up my hair. The last thing I want is for them to have to come back.

The door opens and I sit up straight.

"You don't need to do that," Cinna says and I turn, immediately relaxing. He's aged well over the years. His hair is graying and he has wrinkles but he does nothing to change the look of age. He still wears earrings, and has gold on the corners of his eyes. I've always appreciated the minimal embellishments he's chosen. Just enough that it looks good, not overdone to the point of it being sickening.

He carries a plastic covered black dress with a long train.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, genuinely, before giving me a hug.

I shrug. "As well as can be expected."

"How's your mother doing?"

I sit back in my seat. "I don't really know. She almost got into a fight with someone earlier, but other than that, she's been the same. I guess after so long she's used this place."

Cinna shakes his head and smiles. "Your mother is a very private person, which can be difficult here." He furrows his brows before looking at the dress. I can tell he's remembering my mother. The teenager that once held the hopes of Panem on her shoulders. He swallows the memory down and turns back to me.

I make a noise of agreement. He places a hand on mine.

"Still, a fight is unusual, even for her, what happened?"

"Some man got a little too close and pulled me away from her to tell me he'd be rooting for me. To be honest I didn't really feel like I wanted him to root for me," I say, the truth spilling out. It's easy to talk to Cinna, especially after knowing him for years.

He nods and his eyes go dark, like he has some insight into the interaction that I don't. "Some people don't understand personal space. Speaking of which, need to get you dressed and ready to remind them what the Mellark family is made of."

He removes the dress from the plastic and hands it to me. The fabric is dark and though it looks heavy it isn't. It shines against the light and is silky smooth as I put it on. He holds the train, which actually seems more like a cape. It's too long for me to walk around with it. I hope it doesn't get tangled in the chariot. He finishes last minute touches, and then we are out the door walking to the staging area.

This will be the first time I'm in the same room as the other Tributes. I can't size them up fully, not until we enter training, but it'll give me somewhat of an idea of who I'm dealing with. It'll also give me a chance to get the necessary sponsors to ensure Bas's victory. I think about the Capitol citizens and my heart races. My hands shake but I force them to steady. There is no room for weakness anymore.

We take an elevator down to the staging area. I focus on the floor, trying to collect myself.

"Don't give them anything. They don't deserve it," Cinna tells me. His words, which echo my mother's, give me the last bit of strength I need to hold my head high as the doors open.

He doesn't follow me out. I look back. "Go to the last one. I have to check on your brother, but I'll be back. You'll be fine."

I nod as the doors shut again. I turn back to the staging area and see the Tributes of One and Two with their mentors talking amongst themselves. I guess they're already preparing their team. I pass Four, but see only Beck by the chariot talking to Finnick Odair.

The only other Tributes are the ones from Seven. The boy, about thirteen, I think his name is Grover, talks to Johanna Mason. Even though she's well into her forties, she still looks the same as the Victor who marched out of her arena. Despite the few wrinkles signaling her age, she could still chop someone up with ease. I've always been frightened by her, even before seeing her in person, but now that I have that fear hasn't lessened. She looks me up and down as I pass, giving me a nod of recognition. Her Tributes turn to stare at me before she immediately draws their attention back to her. I wonder what she's telling them. Make friends with me or kill me. I swallow and force myself to continue to my chariot.

I can hear the audience outside, already growing restless. It makes my stomach turn. I give the horse a couple pats to calm myself.

Slowly, more Tributes and stylists funnel in. Not everyone's mentors join them, or only one does, and I wonder if it makes the ones without them seem stronger, like they can stand on their own.

"You look very princess-like," a voice says lightly.

I turn to face Beck Cresta, his smiling face greeting me. His hair is shorter than it was at the reaping and I realize his style team cut it. It's been mussed up in a sort of half wave with product that gives it a shine. It makes his green eyes stand out more. They're so green that it reminds me of home and of the trees in the woods. I have to look anywhere but at his eyes as he talks to me. He leans against the chariot, but slips and forces himself to stand straight. I'm not sure what he's trying to accomplish by coming over here. If it's intimidation, it's not working. If it's trying to ally himself with me, he's having less of an effect.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, noticing his outfit. They've given him some kind of half open shirt to show off his chest, which has been oiled to give him a shine and tan. There's some kind of netting around his waist over leather pants. They've pierced his ear with a gold fishing hook. Tridents and shells have been embroidered on his loose vest.

"That someone's making a point. And you look...nice." He shrugs. "I'm Beck."

"I know, I saw the reaping." I narrow my eyes.

"Well I saw yours, Ivy, but I was being polite."

"What are you supposed to be?" I ask, annoyed. Why is he here?

"Pirate. They thought it would be a nice theme since my mother was a mermaid during her Games and all. And this year is all about history, isn't it?" He laughs, though there's no humor in it. There's a deep seeded anger that I understand.

The noise from the audience outside increases as more people pack into their seats in anticipation. Beck looks towards the entrance and I think I see a shudder, but he covers quickly, straightening and turning to address me, the bravado back.

"I thought they were always about history. The rebellion. Or do they not give you an education in Four outside of preparing you for the Games?" I smirk.

He cocks his head to the side, staring me down, weighing his next remark. "Oh come now, we both know I'm not the only one prepared."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I shrug.

"Yeah I'm sure."

I hear an elevator open and watch Cinna walk out of it with my brother beside him. They head towards Beck and I. Beck takes one look at them and begins to walk away, but not before he adds, "You know you should give the horse a sugar cube, maybe eat one yourself. Good for the nerves."

I watch him as he reaches Finnick, who grabs his shoulder and talks to him quietly. They look back at me every so often and my hand clenches. He's just trying to find a weakness. It was probably Finnick's plan to send him over too. I can't trust anyone here, no one except Bas.

Still, there's an odd way Finnick looks at Beck as he speaks, like he's more worried than giving him advice. When they look at me one final time, there's a similarity to their expression that's almost eerie. It's then that I realize why they look similar. I'm not the only one here with two Victor's for parents.

"What did he want?" Bas asks and I'm broken from my thoughts.

I turn to Bas. "He told me I looked princess-like."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He looks towards Beck, whose getting onto his chariot with the girl from Four. She's much shorter than him but stands straight and watches everyone around her with careful precision. She's going to be a problem. They both are.

"That's what I said." I try to laugh and it manages to bring a smile to Bas' face. Cinna attaches the trains to our outfits. While I wear a dress, Bas wears what looks like a suit fit for royalty. The train looks like a cape on him. They haven't done much with his hair, just trimmed it and styled it back and they haven't put much makeup on him. Just enough to give him a shine under the lights.

When Cinna's finished he looks at his work to make sure it all fits the way he needs it to. He nods approvingly. "It's timed so as soon as you hit the lights, the train will burn away. So don't panic when it starts."

We nod.

Before he leaves he adds, "Don't give them anything."

"That'll be easy," Bas adds and I agree. Cinna smiles before he takes his leave.

"You think Beck's ally material?" Bas asks as we board the chariot.

I shake my head. "I already told you. We don't need anyone."

"Yeah, because the two of us against twenty two others really puts the odds in our favor." He rolls his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" I ask. He looks at me like I've asked him if the sky is blue.

"Of course. But—"

"I'll keep you safe. I promise."

That's the end of the conversation as the anthem plays and the chariots pull forward. As soon as we exit the staging area, our trains light up and fire plumes around us. The crowd screams and chants our names.

We give them nothing. We don't even acknowledge President Snow or his granddaughter. They don't deserve it. No one here deserves our attention. I can feel the anger burning through us and I hope there's a mishap that causes this fire to become real, to burn this entire building down and take everyone with it. But it doesn't happen and we return to the staging area unharmed.

If I thought the stares were bad before, it's worse after the reactions of the crowd. One and Two in particular keep a close watch on us as we meet our parents and Haymitch before boarding the elevator.

I feel a squeeze on my shoulder and turn to see my mother behind me. She gives me a look, asking me if I'm okay and I nod, turning back to the doors as they open.

We walk into the vast room and I've never seen a view like the one outside the window. I may hate the Capitol and all it stands for but I have to admit looking out over the city with its lights against the dark sky makes it seem beautiful and peaceful even.

I feel exhausted and go to my room, peeling off the dress once I'm inside. I go into the shower and let the water wash off all the product and makeup they've put on me. When I finally feel like myself I exit and find a pair of pajamas in the drawers.

That night I dream of cheering faces, twisted with their exaggerated wigs and painted faces. They grab at me and pull at me until I'm being torn apart, my screaming silenced as they drown me in a sea of applause.

It stops suddenly when I'm reminded of green eyes and the peace of home. The next thing I know, I'm sitting in a tree above a lake and there's nothing that can hurt me for miles. I sleep soundly for the first time in a long time.

"_This road is paved with pictures and tools  
oh revealers  
the journeys long so you better make your move  
we're all heathens and we're healers_

_A miracle in one hand_  
_and the other holds a ball and chain_  
_we thirst for liberation_  
_we thirst for the rising flame"_

– Tricksters and Fools - Lynx


	7. Making Friends - Ivy and Katniss

The Games: Making Friends – Ivy and Katniss

Ivy –

Training gear has been set out for me the next morning. When I dress, I'm surprised how comfortable and soft the fabric is. The number twelve has been embroidered across the back and on the sleeve for all to see, like a target for the Careers to focus on.

_Good,_ I think. Let them focus on me, let them hate me, at least it isn't Bas. If they ignore him it'll be easier for him to win. If they're too busy trying to figure out how to kill me, Bas can slip by and become the Victor without them even realizing they're playing right into my plan.

I leave my room, feeling a little better about my death sentence. I'm not sure what it is, maybe the good night's sleep, maybe I've finally reached acceptance, or maybe I know I'm going to succeed. Today, I don't feel as worn down, as terrified of the Capitol as I was. The prospect of finally meeting the Careers doesn't even scare me. I think I'm finally giving up and trying to enjoy my final days.

Is this what my mother felt years ago? This feeling of elation that comes with giving up and not caring anymore?

I take a seat at the table as Effie chatters away to my parents about their schedule for the day.

"And then you have a meeting while we're at the trading floor at two. Until then, manners. That means you Katniss. There will be several sponsors there today."

"Yeah I'm sure they'll be real interested in talking to Twelve over One and Two," my mother says.

"If you remind them of this one, here, they should make time." Effie points to me. "You know, everyone's talking about that dress. First time in ten years that Cinna's used flames again. This family does bring out the best in his inspiration."

"I'm glad I'm only learning how to kill people today. What you three are doing sounds awful." I take a bite and see my mother hide a smile. Effie looks at me like I've gone crazy. "What?"

"You made a joke," Bas says as he walks in, pulling at his shirt. "It's shocking. This feels tight."

"You'll get used to it," I tell him. He sits beside me and throws bacon onto his plate.

"But will we get used to the jokes?" Bas asks, taking a bite of bacon.

"I make one a year, so probably not."

"That's two."

"Shut up."

"How'd we do last night?" Bas asks our parents. My mother's absent smile fades as she's reminded of reality and of the fact that we're tributes and she's our mentor.

Haymitch clears his throat. "Well, you two definitely made a statement. But today, you have training and what you want to do is avoid showing them your skills at all cost."

"Why? I mean it's not like they won't be able to guess what we're good at," I say with a shrug.

"Yeah, wouldn't it be better if they knew? Could get us allies?" Bas asks.

I shoot him a warning look. He covers, "Or just, you know give them a reason to avoid us."

"It gives them a reason to target you," Haymitch says, taking a drink of water.

"You don't want the Careers watching your every move. Trust me," my mother says.

"Don't draw attention to yourselves, in any way." My father gives Bas a look and I know he's silently reminding Bas of what he did in Twelve, not that Bas needs reminding. I'm sure, like me, he thinks about the damage every day.

"We'll stick to traps and plants," Bas says. I nod in agreement. We don't need to learn how to make traps or to learn what plants we can and can't eat. We've had those skills instilled in us from an early age. Even Bas, who doesn't go out in the woods and who hates hunting, knows how to trap squirrels and how to tell the difference between nightlock and other berries.

Effie claps her hands around nine when it's time to leave. She leads us to the elevator and shows us which button to press before leaving us. Haymitch shouts a last piece of advice as the doors shut.

"Make some friends."

We're silent as the elevator descends to the training floor. When the doors open I see the Gamemakers observing from their platform. They eat and drink as they watch us enter. Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker for this year, raises a glass to us. He was the Gamemaker for the last Quell and for five years after, but then he retired. I guess, since he was so well received during the 75th, Snow decided to bring him back for the 100th. He's in his early seventies with a large stomach and what little hair he has left is white. Even without the usual Capitol flourishes I feel sick at his presence. It reminds me that this is entertainment for them.

The tributes from One and Two are already practicing with swords, knives, and spears. While the tributes from Nine and Ten mill about, trying to settle on a skill. The rest of the tributes have yet to arrive.

The boy from Ten, only nine years old and doing his best to be brave, is too small to fit into his shirt. I can only make out the zero on the back of his shirt. Like my father said on the train, he's much too young to be here. Little Zero shakily takes a spear and tries to throw it to the laughter of the Careers.

"Hey!" I shout as I storm over to them. They seem almost taken aback that someone not in their group is even talking to them. I want to hit them. Bas follows me, trying to stop me with a hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off and continue over.

"Is there a problem?" the boy from One says. He's about twenty two, tall, with blond hair. His name is Stone, I remember because Bas and I spent an hour trying to figure out why his parents named him that, before thinking of different rocks we could call him. The rest of the names I've also committed to memory because I knew they'd be the ones to cause me the most trouble.

"Leave that kid alone." I stand tall as the Career pack fans out to face me. They won't hurt me here, they can't. But I'm fairly certain the plan of going unnoticed has been shot to Hell.

"Why?" Victoria, the girl from Two asks. She's got long dark hair and stands about a foot taller than me. Her father, Brutus, never fails to mention how proud he is of his daughter in every interview I've seen. I'm sure he's beaming at what he assumes is her soon to be victory. He even named her for the title of Victor.

"Think of how it looks. Big strong adults picking on a little kid. It's sad," Bas answers, trying to play it off. They don't buy it.

"Maybe he needs to understand that he's outmatched," Cain, from Two, with his short dark hair and lean muscles, replies as he twirls a sword. He's the strongest out of the four of them. He turns to me. "And maybe you should care more about your stupid fire dress and next interview, than what I'm doing."

"Are you worried that I'll get more attention than you?" I ask, a smile threatening to form.

"We know you get more attention." Emery, from One, picks at her cuticles. Her father, Gloss and her aunt, Cashmere, won their Games back to back, and they're both on her mentor team. She doesn't look like them though. She has short brown hair with natural curls. She's slender but I can tell she's stronger than she looks. "But, I know that it doesn't mean shit. All they care about is your stupid mother and her love story. Frankly I'm surprised she even won." Her snide remarks do what she intends them to, they get under my skin.

"Yeah well I'm sure you'll be just as surprised when I kill you." I regret saying it as soon as it leaves my mouth. They all laugh at me, like I'm beneath them, except Emery, who glares at me like she wants me to try. She's the only one out of the lot of them that sees me for what I am, ready and willing to kill them.

"Making friends?" Beck asks as he approaches me. I don't take my eyes off Emery. Cain and Victoria introduce themselves to Beck, it's forced but they try to be nice. They don't see him as any more of a threat than they do me.

"Beck. Minnow's on her way over." He steps in front of Emery. "Ivy, I think you and your brother should leave now," he says, calmly. Whatever pleasantries he had the other night are gone now as I knew they would be. I'm glad I chose not to trust him, but it makes me angrier than it should.

"Good luck in the Games, both of you," Cain says with a smile glancing from me to my brother. A chill runs up my spine. He rips the spear from Zero and throws it into the center of the target.

I want to grab the bow from the archery station and show them just how much luck my brother and I need. But I think better on it and walk away to the laughter of the Careers.

"Nice job going unnoticed," Bas says as we walk away.

"They knew who I was anyway. It doesn't make a difference." I'm lying to myself. They may have known my name but I've given them a reason to seek me out in the arena. I don't care if they see me as a target, I even want them to, but I know that if I'm their focus during the cornucopia there's a chance I won't make it past the bloodbath and then where does that leave Bas.

I try to ignore the Careers as we walk over to the rope tying station. We spend the better part of an hour learning different knots. I'm not very good at tying them, but Bas picks it up quickly.

"Shouldn't make them see you, not smart at all," the boy from Nine says as he sits beside us. His cropped hair covers his forehead, and he avoids eye contact. He mutters to himself before he's lucid enough to tell us, "I'm August."

"Ivy, this is Bas." I point to my brother.

"I know who you two are." Then, he adds in a whisper, "The Mockingjay children."

We don't know how to respond. August holds a finger to his lips like he's silencing us, or himself. He taps a rhythm on his cheek after he moves his finger aside.

"August, are you bothering them?" his district partner asks, bored. She's tall and thin, with a tan from what I can only assume is spending days outside in Nine.

"No, he's just talking," Bas covers. August smiles.

"This is Trina. She's very angry." August plays with a piece of rope, trying to tie a knot but failing. Bas shows him how to do it correctly. I want to scold Bas for helping another district but I find myself liking these two from Nine. Immediately I feel guilty. I shouldn't like anyone. They're just going to die or I'm going to have to kill them.

"Yeah I'm angry. You age out, think you're safe but oh no, thanks to your family history, you now get reaped for the Quell." Trina blows a piece of hair out of her face. I glance over at the Careers and wonder if they're just as angry. Do they see this as a second chance to win, or do they blame my family for being here? Emery hates us. She wouldn't be here if not for us. I wonder if Trina blames us too.

"Though I'm sure you two are probably worse." She takes a seat and ties a knot.

"Why would you say that?" I ask.

"Brother and sister. Only one of you can win. That's harsh."

I nod. "We'll figure it out."

"She has a plan," August adds. "And I bet it's to save you." He points to Bas.

"Sorry about him. August is a little out there. His mother is on a lot of morphling. I think it affected his development."

"Can you paint?" August asks Bas. "Like your father? Or do you do the arrows and she does the painting?"

"Bas, let's go to plants now." I stand. Bas nods.

"Nice meeting you," Bas says courteously, following me.

August waves before saying, "She does the arrows I bet."

"It's called archery, August. And of course she does," Trina tells him, exasperated.

We spend the rest of the morning checking off the plants we can eat and the ones we can't. Every once in a while I look over to the Careers and watch Beck throw a trident into a target. It always lands right where he wants it to. The others, especially Cain seem to be impressed by it.

I overhear Stone tell him, "I have to say, considering your mother, we weren't sure how prepared you'd be for this, but I'm glad to be wrong."

Beck grips the trident a little too tightly as he nods to Stone. He feigns appreciation well, but I can see through it. When he throws the trident the smack as it hits the target is louder than the others. I wonder if he's imagining Stone as he throws it. Beck glances over to me as he picks up the trident and he smiles.

I roll my eyes and go back to my plants. I'm not playing this intimidation game where he feigns kindness to kill me. I would be more worried about him if Johanna was his mentor as she knows just how to pretend the right way before killing everyone. But, knowing that Finnick is his father doesn't make me fear him any more than I did before and it should.

"What do you think about them? Trina and August?" Bas asks, bored as he checks off another plant.

"What do you mean, what do I think?"

"Haymitch said to make friends. Thinking they could be allies?"

"I already told you, we don't need allies, Bas."

"We're gonna need someone else if we're facing them," Bas says as he looks towards the Career pack.

I shake my head. "We won't be facing them. We'll play it safe, find somewhere to hide, and wait it out."

"Assuming there is a place to hide." Bas checks off another plant.

We break for lunch, eating silently as the Careers spend it laughing and talking about their skill level. Zero eats with his district partner, which I'm grateful for. She seems to be protecting him after the incident with the Careers. At least he has someone to do it. Otherwise, I would have been the one watching for him and I can't take care of him and Bas.

The loud Career conversation turns into different ways to kill. Beck feigns an interest until the topic changes to their Victor parents. He focuses on the stew he's eating and adds nothing to the conversation. I can't help but feel a little bad for him. All they know is his mother and he can't talk about his father. I don't fully understand the reasons behind him not telling people, or Finnick and Annie not telling people, but I know what it's like to grow up with attention and cameras. Maybe they wanted to avoid that with him.

The girl from Four, Minnow is around sixteen and small for her age. Despite her size, she's just as loud as the others and enjoys talking about her father a little too much.

"Beck, remember when my dad dropped that boulder on the boy from Ten. He had lost his weapons and was all alone and he just found this boulder and managed to push it so that it rolled and crushed the boy from Ten." She says it in one breath. Beck nods along.

"My father beheaded three tributes during the bloodbath," Cain says proudly. I shudder when he adds, "And completely disemboweled a fourth. He has the highest kill rate of anyone at the cornucopia."

"Going to try to go for the new record, Cain?" Stone asks.

"Well if anyone's going to beat him, it should be someone in the family." Cain laughs.

"I'm going to be the third person in my family to compete. And to win," Emery announces. The other Careers take it as a joke but continue to add veiled threats under the guise of laughter.

"Not if I can help it." Victoria smiles as she takes a bite of some braised ribs. It's the first time I've seen her smile or heard her speak since this morning. It's not a kind smile, there's a dead space in her eyes where it doesn't reach.

I imagine her as a little girl training, her father teaching her the best ways to kill someone and how to inflict maximum damage. She's probably known how to cut someone down since she was old enough to hold a sword or throw a spear. I'll have to kill her from a distance. I don't stand a chance against her in hand to hand. The same applies for Cain. Emery and Stone might be easier, but I won't actively seek out a close fight with any of them.

Beck would be useless without his trident, which he may stand a chance of hitting me with. I have to be faster than him. Minnow doesn't concern me as much as the others, she's small but I make a note not to overlook her and to pay attention when she picks up a weapon. She hasn't yet today and I hope maybe she doesn't have one she's particularly good at. I imagine what it would be like to kill one of them, for their laughter to stop, for their eyes to go cold. I can't see it.

I go to refill my plate, somehow feeling hungry despite my thoughts. Beck joins me a minute later as I scoop some potatoes onto my plate. He's the last person I want to talk to, especially after planning how I need to kill him.

"You should try the fish," he says as he puts rice on his plate.

"Careful, you don't want your new friends to see you talking to me."

"They're not my friends. They're tools for survival." Beck follows me down the line.

"Well those tools are going to try to kill you. And when they try, I'm not gonna help you." I face him.

"Who said anything about you helping me?" Beck asks, an irritating smirk on his face.

I'm starved for words as I go back to putting whatever food I can on my plate as quickly as possible.

"Do you want to help me, Twelve?" he asks, suddenly too close to me. I feel my cheeks flushing red.

"No, in fact I can't wait to kill you, Four." I hurry back to my table, hoping he can't see how red my face is.

"Making yourself more noticeable?" Bas asks as I slam my tray down. I sit across from him and take a bite out of the fish I haphazardly threw on my plate.

"Making friends."

I glare across the room at Beck and the Careers. I really wish we were in the arena and I could shoot them all.

After lunch, Bas tries his hand at camouflage. He's good at it, probably just as good as our father, which he proudly tells me after he paints his hand to look like a rock.

I swirl colors in a bowl and try to paint tree bark on my hand but fail to make it resemble anything other than a grey, brown mess. I wipe off the paint as the girl from Eleven, Callie speaks to my brother.

"You're good at that," she says, impressed.

"Thanks," he replies, "I have a lot of practice."

"We know," Callie says pointing to her district partner across the room. He's tall and surprisingly quick as he practices hand to hand combat. "That's Teddy. He thinks he needs that over survival skills." Callie rolls her eyes.

"You shouldn't overlook them. What happens if you need to eat and you don't know which plants are good," Bas says as he wipes off the paint on his hand.

"That's what I keep saying, but he doesn't want to listen."

"My sister's similar. She thinks she's always right." Bas looks at me.

"I'm right here," I say, annoyed.

"I know." He laughs. Callie joins him.

I look over at the fire station. There's only one person there, the boy from Seven with his shaggy hair and glasses. He's small for his age, fourteen, and as I watch him struggle to get a fire going, I can't help but see my brother in him.

"You should try it like this." I take the stick from his hand and show him how my mother taught me. The fire lights, smoke billowing from the tree stump.

"I don't think my mentor would advise you to teach people how to survive," he jokes. I smile as I take a seat.

"I don't think my mother would care."

"I can respect that. I'm Grover," he introduces, holding out his hand.

I take it and we shake. "Ivy."

"Both your parents are your mentors?" He asks. I nod. "That's hard. I can't imagine having one here, let alone two."

"You don't have a parent?"

"No. My mother, she died like a year after I was born. I live with my grandmother."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"It happened too long ago for me to know."

I don't remember his mother's Games. I was about a year old when she won. I do remember being around five and hearing a report on her death. Apparently there was an accident in Seven, some kind of freak thing where she was walking in the woods and a tree fell on her. The Capitol took the loss pretty hard. I think her name was Natasha.

I remember my father shaking his head at the report and my mother consoling him.

"How's Johanna doing?" he had asked my mother at the time. I don't remember what the answer was or if they even traveled to Seven for the funeral. But judging by their reactions I doubt the story is true and I'm sure she died under different terms. Terms the Capitol doesn't want getting out, because then the people might stop seeing the dead Tributes as sacrifices for the glory of the Capitol and start seeing their Victors as damaged individuals who aren't as lucky as people think they are.

Grover doesn't have a father either. That I remember, and the Capitol didn't have much of an interest in him.

"Hey, don't feel bad for me. It's not like I'm fighting for my life…oh wait." He smiles at his joke. I don't understand how some of them can still find the time to smile, but then I remember how I felt this morning. How I had given up and known, believed, my plan would be successful. I look around and realize the ones with smiles are the ones who share that feeling. He continues, "Besides, I have Johanna. She's kind of like an aunt."

"I've always found her to be kind of scary," I tell him.

"She's pretty intense, but she cares, and when she cares, be glad you're the one she cares about." Grover manages to light a fire on his own. He looks up at me, proud.

"Good job."

The Careers have settled into their chosen weapons by now. Stone favors swords and spears, though he's not as good at them as Cain, who has much more versatility with weapons than all the others. At one point he picks up an ax and throws it dead center into a target. Emery, like her father and aunt, uses knives while Victoria settles more on watching the others. She throws spears just fine, and like the boys favors a sword, as I thought she would, but she doesn't show off as much as the others. She leans against the wall watching as her allies practice combat training and I can see the gears turning. She's working out everyone's weaknesses and strengths just as I was doing during lunch. I wonder if she has a plan for me, if she knows exactly how she's going to kill every single one of us.

Minnow tries her hand at combat training. She's quick enough to avoid being hit, but doesn't strike as hard as the others. Victoria barely watches her. She's already counted Minnow amongst the dead.

Grover says something to me that I don't catch. "What?"

"I asked if they scare you." He indicates the Career group.

Minnow falls and Cain rolls his eyes. He whispers something to Victoria who nods in agreement. They may be loyal to each other now, joking around and smiling, but they're all too eager to win, desperate to be the one who ends this. They'll fall apart quickly. I shake my head, "No."

"They scare me." He pauses, debating whether he wants to continue before saying, "You're a lot like Johanna said you'd be."

"And that is?" I ask, taken aback.

"Really good at lying to yourself. But also, really brave and kind of frightening, in a good way. She likes you." Grover smiles warmly. It doesn't make me feel better to know that Johanna Mason likes me. It just makes me think she's going to order Grover to kill me first.

I mill about going to useless stations, bored out of my mind. I want to go back to the room. I can't shoot. I don't want to make friends. I'm done with training. I can't imagine doing this for another two days. I wonder how my parents are doing with their meetings.

Katniss –

I've always hated trying to convince people to help my Tributes. Even more, I hate how the sponsors walk around like they're precious commodities. They are and they can be what stands between life and death, but Tributes aren't items to be purchased. My children aren't things to be coveted. I'm reminded once again of the desire to end this.

The large trading floor bustles with mentors trying to sell their tributes to the best sponsors. We each have our own small section with chairs and during the Games there will be screens on the wall devoted to each of our Tributes. Right now they display each face with a number above their head. Their odds of winning keep shifting as more sponsors sign up. They will change after the scores are released, providing a more definitive look at possible Victors. As usual, the sponsors flock to One and Two. They take time to talk to Finnick, but largely ignore Four as potential Victors.

Finnick does his best to put on a smile, even when the women and some men of the Capitol come up to him just to touch him. I hear him try to sell them on Beck, some make excuses, while some genuinely consider him as long as his training score holds up to Finnick's praise.

I used to consider Finnick nothing more than a Victor, proud of his title. But Tributes aren't the only people the Capitol covets. It's a rumor to others who haven't experienced it, but I know, especially after seeing the reactions when we arrived, if it weren't for Peeta, there's a chance I would have become like Finnick. If Ivy wins, she very well could. I feel cold thinking about it. If Bas wins, would that be better? Would he be safe? No, there is no safety. I can't comprehend losing either one of them.

Peeta, Haymitch and I get a few interested parties as the day wears on, but nothing serious. Even being branded the girl on fire's daughter doesn't have the amount of attention Cain from Two gets. They don't consider her victory a sure bet. I expect the same rule's going to apply to my children as they do for Beck. If their training score is high enough, we'll get requests. Until then, Haymitch drinks steadily while talking with Johanna.

Whatever he tells her seems serious, though he plays it off with a smile. She does the same but I've learned to recognize the signs in Haymitch. He doesn't want attention, he's planning and it can't look like he is. I need to know the plan. I need to have hope that I can save my children.

I take a step towards them but am almost immediately stopped by Finnick.

"Katniss," he says, smiling.

"Finnick. You look cheery." I take a step back.

"You know as well as I that looks can be deceiving."

"Any takers yet?" I ask, expecting Effie to run in at any moment and drag us to our meeting. The clock reads five to two and she's nothing if not punctual.

"You know how it is. First day's the hardest. Unless you're One and Two. Cashmere and Gloss sure are generating a lot of interest." He directs my attention to the two blondes surrounded by Capitol sponsors. Two men practically get in a fight trying to speak to one of them. "And here I thought it would be them fighting over you."

I don't want to be in this room. I don't want to be in this city. I hate the smell, the blood and roses that follows me wherever I go. I hate the constant attention and the extravagance. People are starving all over the country and these people eat meal after meal made of the grain and meat taken from the people in the districts. And they throw it away when they're done like it's nothing or throw it up to stuff more in.

I remember my Victory party, Peeta was just as angry as I when we witnessed the Capitol's way of life. It only got worse as the years went on, as we spent more time here. We play our parts, we pretend to be grateful, to love the Capitol and our way of life, but even though we're well off in Twelve, we've never taken more than we need.

I remember that Finnick is standing beside me and I shake myself back to reality. I check the clock. It's after two. Where's Effie?

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, Finnick, but I have-"

"A meeting? Yeah I know. It's with me." He smiles before adding, "And Annie."

"What about River?" I look around for the third Victor from their district. There used to be four Victors, but Mags died years ago. She was nothing but kind and one of the few Victors I actually liked being near. The year after she was gone, the 80th Games, it was just Finnick and River, who won two years before.

"He's not interested in allying his daughter with your kids. Thinks it'll get her killed."

"And you want to ally Beck because…you think someone should? And if he dies, whatever?" He's not usually interested in allying with Twelve. He hasn't been for some time. I don't know why he would start now. Unless he thinks because these Tributes are my children they'll have some kind of advantage.

All the tributes have the same advantage, they were raised by Victors and while some bear the scars better, we've all lived with the same fear. That one day our children would become like us. Even Gloss, who's normally composed with a superior attitude, has a wild look to his eyes as he speaks to sponsors. He wants to give Emery everything he can to ensure her win. I don't blame him for it. I would be doing the same thing if we had more interest, but no one cares when you don't have a victory in twenty five years.

Finnick's jaw tightens and he grinds his teeth. The mention of Beck hits him harder than I think it should. He pulls himself together and the playful smile returns. The illusion of the careless mentor he so often plays.

"Beck wants to ally himself with Ivy." He shrugs. "I've told him to stick with One and Two, but he's chosen not to listen to me."

"They do that." I think of Ivy and her unwillingness to listen. Finnick silently agrees, understanding my meaning much better than I expect him to. I wonder how much he knows Beck, if this is more personal than he wants me to believe it is.

"I don't think it's a good idea," I try, but he doesn't take no for an answer.

He pleads. "Will you come with me to see Annie? She might convince you." There's a look that reflects Gloss's, the same one that I've seen in Peeta and in the mirror. Desperation to save someone you love.

"I'll find Peeta," I tell him. He looks relieved.

Peeta and I follow Finnick down the hall to the door marked Four. Each district gets its own suite on the trading floor. It's smaller than the rooms we're given during training, but each suite has a dining area, a small lounge, and two bedrooms. Most districts take shifts during the Games, with one remaining on the trading floor while the other mentors sleep. Sponsors are never brought into the suites. They are reserved for conversations between districts, usually involving allies. Even when both tributes are dead from their district, the other mentors help the ones left standing. We're not allowed to leave until the Games are over so it's easier than doing nothing.

We walk inside the suite. Annie sits on the couch, staring at the glass table. The door shuts but she doesn't look up.

Annie doesn't usually mentor in the Games, she's always been considered too damaged to be helpful. Or so everyone but Finnick says. Since this year her son is in the Games, nothing, not even her fragile state, would keep her away. She's kept to herself and stayed in the suite all morning. I don't think the sponsors want to see her, to be reminded of what happens after what they call glory. And if they don't want to see her, she wants to see them even less.

Finnick sits beside her and coaxes her back to reality. She snaps out of it quickly, her green eyes finding mine.

"How is it out there?" she asks Finnick.

He shrugs. "What we expected. Do you still want…?" He never finishes his question. She nods, standing and walking to the dining table. Finnick takes the seat beside her while Peeta and I take the two across. An Avox brings us glasses of water.

Finnick looks to Annie. She nods. He starts, "Like I said Beck has asked us to request Ivy as an ally. Now before you say no, you should know that his skill set would be desirable in the arena. And I'm sure it would make it easier on your children."

"That's all well and good, but, Ivy isn't looking for allies," Peeta says, quietly.

"Are you sure?" Annie asks.

I nod. "She's said, repeatedly, that she doesn't want them."

"Why are you here, then?" she asks, her voice on edge.

"We're hoping she might change her mind," Peeta answers.

"She _might_ change her mind. And if she doesn't? You'll just let her enter the arena naïvely believing she doesn't need help. I expected more from you, girl on fire." Finnick takes a sip of his water.

"Don't call me that," I threaten.

He ignores me, leaning forward in his chair, that desperate look back on his face. "Anyone who has ever won has won with an ally who's either died for them, or killed for them. And yes, even been killed by them. We all know this is temporary and no one wants to admit that there's a very real chance one of them might kill the other, but as of right now, it's good for all of us." Finnick takes a breath before continuing, "I'm assuming Ivy has an affinity for a bow and arrow and if she does, she can't face the Career pack alone."

"She's not alone," Peeta says.

"Worrying about Basil is going to be a distraction for her. She's going to need someone else to watch her back besides her brother." There's no smile on Finnick's face anymore, this is the business like mentor prepared to do anything to keep his Tribute alive.

I'm barely listening to Finnick. I'm too focused on his earlier words. About every Victor winning with an ally. "I didn't."

"What?" he asks.

"You said anyone who has won, won with an ally. I didn't."

He stares at me, a sardonic laugh echoing through him. "Have you really forgotten? Of course you did. Rue."

I clench my fists under the table at the mention of Rue. The truth is I have tried to forget. I see her all the time, but I've pushed the memories away, even as I'm haunted by them. Peeta takes my hand silently.

"And later Peeta, who you defiantly refused to kill." Finnick glances between the two of us.

"You know it wasn't defiance," I say, glaring at him.

"No, you were so in love," he says disbelieving, his voice tinged with anger.

"Finnick," Annie warns. He looks to her, she shakes her head. I'm surprised how much he listens to Annie and how well she's holding herself together during this conversation. From the brief stories I've heard about her I didn't think she would be able to sit through half as long as she has. I should have known the stories were exaggerations. The Capitol loves their gossip almost as much as they love their Victors. His tone diminishes into a defeated, business-like one.

"As I mentioned before, Beck isn't interested in making friends with One and Two. So we have to look at the best options. I know he doesn't seem it, but he's strong and he's loyal. I can promise you that he will defend her and your son, who I'm assuming, is a package deal with your daughter, until he can't anymore." Finnick's voice cracks at the last three words. He sits back in his chair, picking at a fraying thread of the seat cushion.

Peeta and I look at each other. I want to believe Finnick. To believe what he says about Beck, but it's too early to trust a Tribute's request for an ally. This could be a plan to get close to her just to kill her. And even if I did trust it, I can't make Ivy do something she doesn't want to. And if she doesn't want an ally, I won't force her to have one.

Peeta voices our shared suspicions. "Why her? Its day one of training, he can't have seen her do anything yet. Why would he choose her over a sure bet like One and Two?"

"I trust his betting luck," Finnick replies with a smirk.

"No. Why?" I ask, staring Finnick down.

Annie shifts in her seat. "He didn't say." She shakily takes a drink of water, trying to steady herself, preparing to sway our opinion. "But, I trust his judgment. He's always been good with reading people and Ivy is the ally he wants."

"He thinks she's pretty," Peeta concludes. "No. I don't trust this. I'm sorry. If she says something, we'll come back to it, but only if she asks. Let's go." He stands and we head to the door.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Annie place her head in her hands. Finnick slides his chair closer to her, his hand on her shoulder.

I hear Annie say, "What are we going to do?"

"Maybe he listened to me. Maybe he's with the others."

"Or pretending to be," she laments.

As the door shuts behind me and Peeta I can't help but think we've made a mistake. Beck wasn't the only one betting on our family. Maybe Ivy's changed her mind about an ally.

When we return to our floor for dinner, Ivy and Bas shuffle in, tired from the day.

"Make any friends?" Haymitch asks, taking a bite of his lamb stew.

Ivy and Bas look at each other.

"What's that face?" Peeta asks.

"Nothing. The plan to go unnoticed has sort of fallen apart. I think I'm on the Careers short list now." Ivy stares at her plate. My heart jumps into my throat. I want to be angry with her, but I know how volatile the Careers can be, I didn't truly expect them to ignore my children.

"What did you do?" Haymitch asks.

"They were picking on that little kid from Ten. I told them to stop."

"She may also have threatened them," Bas adds. She gives him a look that causes him to shrink down in his seat.

"Ivy, I thought you would know better than to antagonize them." Peeta runs a hand through his hair, the color draining from his face.

Haymitch laughs and looks from Peeta to me. "You think with that one as her mother she would have the sense not to say something? Peeta I thought you were smarter than that."

I look at Haymitch, my annoyance evident, which only makes him laugh harder.

"Sorry sweetheart, but you and I both know it's true. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all that." He takes a satisfied bite of his food before turning to Ivy. "What did you say?"

Ivy shrugs. "I don't remember."

"You remember," Haymitch coaxes.

She sighs. "Emery said something along the lines of being surprised that you won." Ivy looks at me. "And I said I'm sure you'll be just as surprised when I kill you."

Peeta shakes his head. "They were just trying to rile you up and you let them. You can't do that. Now they're gonna target you and I…excuse me." He stands and hurries out of the room.

"He's not mad at you. He's just scared. I'll be right back." I follow after Peeta, knowing exactly where he's disappeared to.

When I walk out onto the roof, the wind causes my hair to fly in multiple directions. He sits, knees to his chest, watching the city like we did long ago when we were Tributes and he was worried about being a piece in their Games.

I sit beside him, the both of us quiet as the sounds of the city surround us. Eventually I slide closer to lean on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around me.

"I think you scared them," I finally say, breaking the silence.

"I'm scared," he admits, his mind far away.

"Me too." I remember our conversation on the train. "But someone told me we will get through this."

"That someone was wrong."

"No, he wasn't."

"How can you be sure?" he asks.

"Because I have to be."

He looks at me and smiles gratefully before kissing my forehead.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too."

We stay on the roof for a while, keeping each other warm, watching the lights of the city change as the night wears on.

"_But if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
Nothing changed at all?  
And if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
You've been here before?"_

Pompeii – Bastille


End file.
